


red.

by blujamas



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Confusion, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Soulmates AU, Soulmates with Plot, because y not, somewhere in there theres fluff, the extended version of the thing i wrote on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujamas/pseuds/blujamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miraculous Soulmates AU.</p><p>Everyone remembers one person from their past life, the person it would be a crime to forget. For Marinette, it's Chat Noir. But.</p><p>But she's in love with someone else. But he's so in love with her that it's disastrous. But the Miraculous Program is coming for them. But it hurts to even look at him. But there are questions unanswered from a century ago. But the answers will tear them apart.</p><p>||(Question: Are you in love with him?</p><p>Answer: Yes. But. There's always a but.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> my first ever fanfic for this fandom (actually EVER), and it's awful but whatever, I'll survive through this, I hope you guys do, too.

Everyone is in search of someone else. It's always been that way, as far back as history could remember. People would be born with the memories of people long dead, and they would search for the one person that their previous self loved with every fibre of their being, with every shiver of their soul--the person who resonated throughout the ages, the unforgettable.  
  
There wasn't much lead of who those people were, though. Sometimes, it could just be a flicker of a smile, a name so common it could belong to millions, an echo of a laugh. For Marinette, lucky, lucky Marinette, it was a complete memory. One scene. A scene her previous self left to her.  
  
Marinette wished she hadn't.  
  
It wasn't a very good memory.  
  
_Red. All she could see was red._  
  
_Red from her suit, red from his blood._  
  
_"My Lady," he gasped, clutching her hand with the last of his strength, "my lady, my lady..."_  
  
_She didn't speak._  
  
_She just held him, and cried._  
  
_And he just smiled, and died._  
  
Alya, keeper of all of Marinette's secrets, had launched a full-on search through the internet for the dying boy in Marinette's memory in a misguided attempt to help out her friend. What Alya didn't know, what nobody, not even Tikki, know, however, what Marinette hadn't told her, was that she already knew who he was.  
  
_Chat Noir._  
  
_That was his name._  
  
Her partner. From years back to this, when they could meet once more under the cover of night.  
  
It hurt to look at him, sometimes, when they were on patrol. It hurt Ladybug's heart, and her mind. Because when she looked at Chat, her Chat, all she could see was that final moment in their past lives. That one last warm breath of air, that one last word, that one last beat of his heart under her palm. All that blood.  
  
_Red._  
  
Sometimes, it hurt to look at her suit, too.  
  
And what was worse was that he hadn't found _his_ person, at least as far as he knew. During one of their patrols, when they were both exhausted from the akuma attack and their other lives beyond the masks, sitting on top of the Eiffel Tower with the city they were sworn to protect spreading below their feet, he had told her his memory.  
  
"All I can remember is blue," he had said quietly, leaning against a steel beam, his eyes far away, shadows dancing across the tired planes of his face. "Blue, and laughter. Sunshine. Bare feet. A palm against my chest as I died." He huffed out a mirthless laugh. "Awful memory, I know."  
  
And Ladybug had frozen, and her heart had skipped, and her eyes--blue, his last memory--had watered.  
  
" _Chat_..." She took a trembling gulp of air. "Oh, Chat."  
  
And he had smiled a smile that reminded her of the one he gave her before he had died, the first time.  
  
But she hadn't told him. Not that time, not ever.  
  
Because, _forgive me, past self,_ she was in love with someone else.  
  
And she was going to follow her own heart, her own memories, thank you very much.  
  
She just wished it didn't feel like such a betrayal. To herself, to her past self, to the Chat Noir that was still looking for his lady. And to Adrien Agreste, holder of her heart, because he wasn't the last thought of her last life but she still loved him with the life she had now.  
  
Ah. What a trick it was to be in love, and what a trick it was to hold on to love.


	2. Answer:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Marinette is surrounded with happy people and unhappy thoughts.

Marinette steeled herself before going down for breakfast. It had been more frequent, this need to prepare before heading out to meet the day. Ever since she met Chat Noir and became his partner on nightly patrols, she'd been more... aware of things. Of _love_. Specifically, the absence of love for her supposed soulmate while everyone else seemed to be so sure of theirs.  
  
Her parents, for example. Sabine and Tom, a match made in the past.  
  
"Good morning," Marinette greeted, injecting as much cheer as she could into her voice. "Lovely day, lovely weather! Oh, are those macaroons?"  
  
Sabine slid a plate of colorful sweets in front of Marinette. Needing all the energy for that night, Marinette gobbled all of them up as quick as she could--but the fastness had more to do with her wanting to escape as soon as possible. (She didn't see the point in this; it was worse at school.)  
  
Sabine and Tom were talking about mundane things like they were the most important happenings in the world, as always. It wasn't that there was anything particularly extraordinary in, say, the bakery's new tablecloths, but they've always revelled in the sound of each other's voices. It was, after all, what led them together. A memory of a voice.  
  
Marinette finished her breakfast and watched them for a while. It was a game she liked to play with herself. Question: how long can I watch before the pain cripples me?  
  
The dreamy eyes, the fingers twitching for a touch, the curving smiles, looking at each other as if they were a miracle to behold... (Answer: five seconds.)  
  
"Well," she said, a bit too loudly, "I'm off."  
  
Sabine stood to kiss Marinette's forehead. "See you, love."  
  
"Have a good day," Tom added from the table.  
  
Marinette did, at least for the few minutes on her way to school. And then she saw her second slap in the face for the day. Mylene and Ivan.  
  
Sitting on the stairs, with Mylene leaning against Ivan's shoulder.  
  
_Smite me down_ , she begged silently, turning away and heading up the steps as fast as she could.  
  
Inside, she saw Kim and Alix, horsing around and laughing, with stars in their eyes. Nathanael, sitting on a bench and sketching what Marinette knew was yet another portrait of Isabelle, his soulmate living in Rome. Rose and Juleka. A teacher's husband rushing to bring a forgotten lunch box. Sophia and Christine. Robbie and Elizabeth, best friends since a hundred years ago. (There were, after all, different kinds of love.)  
  
(Answer: 2 minutes.)  
  
Love. Everywhere.  
  
A reminder of Marinette's incapability to answer her old self's call to arms.  
  
She must have loved him so much. And Marinette couldn't for the life of her grant that one wish, couldn't bring the two lovers together again even when she had the power to. She couldn't even tell Chat...  
  
She was selfish.  
  
When she opened the door to her classroom, she knew she couldn't escape what was to come. Nino, turning to face Alya, who was leaning as far as she could over her desk to whisper to her soulmate.  
  
And. Chloe. With Adrien.  
  
For years, Chloe had ranted on and on and on about her soulmate with the pretty green eyes and blond hair that she was convinced was definitely, 100% Adrien Agreste. So now she was with her supposed soulmate, sitting on his lap and running her fingers through his hair, chattering, while Adrien... while Adrien looked past her shoulder to smile at Marinette in greeting.  
  
(Answer: 3 seconds.)  
  
It was another one of Marinette's upfronts on the past. The first being having absolutely no interest in her past self's love, and the second having a crush on another person's soulmate--even if that other person was Chloe, it still made her absurdly guilty.  
  
Marinette walked past the two of them, unable to meet Adrien's eyes, and sat down beside Alya.  
  
"So, as it is Adrien's eighteenth birthday next week, I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to the party he's throwing," Nino was saying, lacing his fingers with Alya's.  
  
Alya giggled. "You _have_ to ask?"  
  
"A party?" Marinette didn't add, _for Adrien?,_ which was what really intrigued her. "Where?"  
  
"Oh." Nino slowly looked up from Alya's face, his eyes still glazed over with a happiness that shot a bullet through Marinette's heart. "Oh, Mari! Hi, good morning."  
  
"Where?" she repeated, just to snap him out of his daze.  
  
"At Adrien's house, of course." Nino grinned smugly. "I finally managed to convince his dad to throw him one. You know, one that doesn't end in disaster like the last time."  
  
"And I will forever be grateful," commented Adrien, jabbing an elbow playfully to Nino's side. "Thanks again, man. For sitting in front of my dad's car and rioting until he agreed to this."  
  
Nino gave him a brief grin before turning back, as always, to Alya. Always to Alya. "So, that was a yes?"  
  
Alya rolled her eyes. "Of course. How can I refuse _Adrien Agreste_ 's party?" This, she added with a wink at Adrien's direction, which was met by a chuckle before he turned to Marinette.  
  
That was one upside to Alya's being soulmates with Nino (besides the bright happiness on her best friend's face that was, at worst, bittersweet, at most, Marinette's proudest joy). Ever since they discovered that their memories were of each other, the four of them had gotten closer. Adrien, Marinette, Alya and Nino. Chloe, because she was Chloe, did not mix well with the group even with her supposed soulmating with Adrien.  
  
"How about you, Marinette?" Adrien asked, Chloe looking indignant at the words coming out of her boyfriend's (were they even dating?) mouth.  
  
Marinette couldn't say she wasn't surprised herself. " _Me_? I... That would be okay, I guess."  
  
Adrien grinned.  
  
(Answer: 6.7 seconds.)  
  
Chloe glared at all of them, and flipped her hair. "Why does Marinette have to go? She's not really a party girl. She'd stick out like a sore thumb."  
  
Marinette glared back, but nobody else seemed to have heard Chloe. (Each for their own different reasons.)  
  
" _Ooooh_ ," Alya cooed, her eyes on Nino. "This is going to be awesome, Marinette. Adrien Agreste, prepare yourself! Marinette's going to be gorgeous."  
  
"Excuse me?" Chloe.  
  
"Ha-ha." Marinette.  
  
"I don't doubt it." Adrien.  
  
Marinette's gaze snapped back to Adrien, but he was already turning around and nudging Chloe away since the proffeseur was already walking in.  
  
Unnoticed by Adrien (who had his back to her), and Nino and Alya (who were too busy staring at each other), Marinette flushed to her ears.  
  
Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.  
  
How can that simple sentence from Adrien Agreste fluster her more than a proclamation of love from her soulmate?  
  
Well. She knew the answer to _that_ , at least. Because Adrien was Adrien, sweet, kind Adrien, and Chat Noir was... he was...  
  
Well, he was Chat Noir.  
  
When the bell rang for lunch, Marinette pulled Adrien aside before Chloe could, a fact that Chloe stomped about and pouted away with. They'd been friends, he and she, for a while now that grabbing his shoulder and saying, "Can I talk to you?" wasn't such a mess as it would have been a year ago.  
  
"What's up?" he asked, when they were alone in the classroom.  
  
This, too, didn't reduce Marinette into a blushing, stuttering catastrophe.  
  
She watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on the balls of his feet, all the while still looking at her. Intent, curious, focused.  
  
It was a type of razor-sharp focus that Adrien always had for his friends. His gaze never wavered when you were important to him, as if he was afraid that just by looking away, she would disappear. He never made anyone feel as if he didn't care.  
  
"So, about your party..." Marinette laced her fingers together behind her and tried not to look away, meeting Adrien's gaze with her own. "Is it really okay if I came?"  
  
"Of course." The answer was sure and immediate; he hadn't even thought twice. " _Of course_ , Mari. You don't need to ask."  
  
"Well. But, Chloe. It's not like I follow her orders, but she's your soulmate and all, it might be weird if--"  
  
At the word _soulmate_ , Adrien's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh. Don't mind her, Marinette."  
  
He put a hand on her shoulder, and Marinette gave him a small smile.  
  
"You're one of my best friends," he said, "and you should never doubt your place in my home. Forget what Chloe said, okay? You're more than welcome at my party. Though I can't say the same for Chloe."  
  
Marinette laughed, feeling her chest tighten, then rise, then light up with pain and joy at once. Adrien stepped back, grinning, and pulled on the strap of his bag.  
  
"Well, then," he said, "I'll see you there for sure?"  
  
"Definitely." Marinette waved at him until he disappeared. Then she dropped her hand, and then her smile.  
  
She looked down at her feet. The ground was still beneath her, but she felt like she was falling and knowing there was no other way for this to end than with her splattered against the floor.  
  
She took a deep breath, balled her fists. Her heart hurt. So much.  
  
"Mari?" Tikki's muffled voice rose from her bag. "Marinette, are you alright?"  
  
"I'm... I'm okay, Tikki," she lied.  
  
She closed her eyes against the pain, against everything threatening to crush her.  
  
A betrayal of the highest order, a betrayal to herself. She loved-- _Oh, God_ \--she loved Adrien so much. Why couldn't it have been _him_ , why?  
  
Why hadn't the name her past life had uttered been _Adrien Agreste_ , and not _Chat Noir_? Why did she have to choose between honoring the past and making choices in the present?  
  
Why was it so hard to fall in love with Chat Noir? Every time she looked at him, all she could see was the red, and the death, and his broken body on her lap, and it hurt so much. And sometimes, when she glanced at him, she saw Adrien, and his warm smile and his beautiful soul, and not her cheeky, bad-humored kitty.  
  
It hurt. It hurt not knowing the answer to the questions that really mattered.  
  
One thing was for sure, however. She could not meet Chat Noir tonight.


	3. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Chat pays Marinette a visit when she least wanted him to. (or maybe most needed him to.)

Marinette kept herself sane that night by assuring herself that Chat would be fine without her, because after all he was Chat, and he won't be needing her help. He'll be fine on a night alone, there won't be any akuma attacks, he'll be safe.

She wasn't betraying him. Not exactly. She trusted him enough to keep himself alive for a night.

He was going to be fine.

It didn't help.

After tossing and turning on her bed for an hour, Marinette got up and paced the length of her room. Tikki, already curled up asleep on the little bed Marinette made for her and set out on the table, didn't see Marinette chew on her lip and glance at her window every five minutes. She didn't see Marinette climb halfway up her ladder just in case, and then slide back down in misery. She didn't hear Marinette mutter and run her hands through her unbound hair.

The kwami couldn't see Marinette tear herself apart.

It seemed like a good decision, when Adrien was there to reassure her of her feelings, but now that she was alone...

She glanced at her bare walls, the pictures of Adrien she had kept when she was younger gone and hidden inside her diary box. Since they'd been close friends, he would often hang out her place, and she couldn't risk him seeing those stalker-ish photos cut out from every magazine he'd been in. Also, it was a bit creepy to have photos of one of your best friends, even if you were in love with him.

She had nothing to convince her not to go out there, except for the rawness of her heart.

She couldn't see Chat tonight, but he might need her help.

Oh God, what if he was hurt...?

What if he was _dying_?

Marinette closed her eyes. Red. All she could see was red.

When she opened her eyes again, she was sure.

She might not be able to love Chat like her past self would like to, but she could keep him safe. In this, she and late Ladybug could agree.

She was about to go and wake Tikki; it wasn't too late, not yet. But before she could, her window snapped open, and a scream rose on her lips as she turned--

And found Chat Noir staring at her, eyes wide and mouth half-open as if to form her name.

" _Chat_?" Marinette took a step backwards in surprise. Her head was spinning. What was he doing here? In her _home_? At _night_? Was she being targeted by akuma? _Was_ there an akuma?

At her fast glance behind him to make sure there wasn't anyone following him, he put his hands up to calm her. "Hold on there, Princess, it's fine, you're fine."

Marinette turned her gaze to him. "Then why are you here?"

It wasn't the first time Chat Noir dropped by her room. Hell, it wasn't even the twentieth time. Ever since that time when Marinette and Chat, not Ladybug and Chat, fooled the Illustrator, he'd been prone to dropping by the bakery, usually on weekend mornings to buy pastries Tom and Sabine would rather give him for free (though he rejects this and instead pays in cash every time) and sometimes when he was bored of his regular life, as he put it, to say hello.

But there seemed to be something different this time.

Marinette looked at him more closely when he didn't answer. He shifted his eyes away, jutting his lower lip out in a very Chat-like gesture, and he shifted on his feet... and there. A flicker of pain on his face, a flinch.

Marinette looked him over, stepping forwards, and found it. A huge gash on his side, like a knife slash.

" _Chat_ ," Marinette shrieked, panicking and rushing forwards to inspect the wound. "What the hell happened? Are you okay? Was it an akuma? Oh, God, _God_ \--"

"Marinette, calm down," he tried to say over her, "I'm fine, really--"

" _Fine_?" Marinette demanded, hysterical. This was her fault, after all. She had left him alone tonight and now he was bleeding and possibly dying and--she really needed to calm down, but this-- "Okay. _Okay_. What happened?"

She led Chat to her bed and sat him down. She didn't mind that blood was dripping on her _blanket_ , but she did mind that _blood_ was dripping on her blanket. _Chat_ 's blood. That she _caused._

"It's really no big deal," he said.

"Chat. You got _stabbed_."

"Just a scratch, really."

Marinette bent down on the floor to get a closer look at the wound. "Definitely a stab wound."

"No, listen." She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, either from frustration of pain. "A guy was getting mugged in an alleyway, I stepped in, the mugger knicked my side with his knife, that's all."

" _That's all_? Chat, you could get an infection."

"Purr-cisely why I'm here." Chat grinned, cheeky even when bleeding.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "No, not precisely, because you need a hospital, not a seventeen-year-old with no expertise in stitching people up."

When she pointed this out, he seemed to grow sheepish, and a bit... afraid? Or maybe that was just Marinette's hysteria talking.

Her fault. This was _her_ fault... She should've been there to help.

"A-A friend of mine informed me that you, uh, you like making clothes," he stammered. The wound was clearly getting worse, then.

"A friend? Who?"

"A friend of mine whose friend is a friend of a friend of a friend who knows you," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Anyway, your house was closer than the hospital, so I figured why not?"

Marinette's jaw dropped in exasperation. "Chat, I stitch _clothes_. Not people!"

"Mari--" His voice was cut off with a groan, and he doubled over in pain, clutching his side.

Marinette's heart was hammering inside her chest, but she tried to steady herself nonetheless. Without another word to Chat, she stood and walked-- _calmly, calmly_ \--towards her bathroom.

"Marinette?" His voice was faint. "Where are you--"

"Stay there, cat." She riffled through her medicine cabinet until she found the pouch she had stowed away with the things it would be awkward to explain to her parents if they stumbled upon it. She spilled its contents unto her palm. A small sewing needle, a bottle of disinfectant, bandages and a dwindling roll of thread.

Sometimes, as Ladybug, she got scraped up, and had to tend to her wounds herself because _honestly,_ she couldn't got into a hospital as Marinette or Ladybug. Both situations would be hard to explain.

She reentered her room to find Chat staring at her, a bit open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as if he'd never seen her before.

(Answer: 1.32 seconds.)

"Okay," she said, kneeling by his feet and dropping her gear beside her.

"I thought you didn't stitch up people?" His voice was slurry and throaty, like he was forcing the words out through mud.

She tucked her hair behind her ears (it was getting a bit long; she would have to get it cut again). "Yeah, well." She swallowed, unsure. "I'm clumsy. Clumsiness, despite being endearing and humorous to you, does have its drawbacks."

He chuckled, smooth and low. "Okay. I trust you. Paw-tch me up, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette, despite her anxiousness, rolled her eyes at him. "Hold still, then, cat." She picked up the disinfectant and the cotton, then reached for Chat's wound.

He was still, unmoving, as stiff as a statue.

"Scared?" she whispered.

"I've dealt with worse," he said.

She had, too. This. Looking at him and remembering her past self's memory, it was worse than any of the other wounds she'd sustained in battle.

As she scrutinized the wound closer, she realized one problem. Her stomach flipped at the realization.

"Um. Chat?"

"Yes, Marinette?"

"I can't... I can't clean the wound like this."

He looked down at her, and she up at him. Their eyes met. Confused, for different reasons.

(Answer: 1 second.)

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking down at the slice on his suit and wound.

Marinette gulped. "Your... Your suit's in the way, Chat." She couldn't get to the wound with the black material around it.

"Oh." Nonchalance, then realization. _"Oh!"_

Marinette fought the urge to scoot away. "You have to--You have to de-transform, or whatever."

"If-If you're uncomfortable with it, then maybe I should go to the hospital after all..." He chewed on his lip pensively, calculating how much it would hurt to scale Parisian roofs with a knife wound through his side.

"No!" she exclaimed. _This is my fault, I should clean it up._ "Chat, I have to disinfect this, quick."

"But you've said before, that you'd rather I keep my identity secret."

Marinette frowned. "I never said that," she said slowly. _Not in_ this _self, I haven't._

"Oh." He frowned, too, mirroring her own. "Huh. That was Ladybug, then? I always mess you up with her, maybe it's because of the hair, you have similar hairstyles, you know?"

 _Identical_ , Marinette almost corrected. "I could focus on the wound," she offered. "I won't glance at you, I swear."

He looked torn, indecisive. Didn't he trust her? He trusted Ladybug, so why was Marinette so different?

After a few tense moments, he nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, but promise me don't look, alright? That's a whole brand of trouble I don't like touching with an open wound in my side."

"Right." Marinette sighed. "Get on with it, then, cat."

"Alright," he breathed.

Marinette closed her eyes on instinct, just in case, as a green light flooded her room.

A warm hand touched her shoulder. "All set, Marinette." His voice was softer somehow, kinder, and quieter, as if the suit he wore as Chat Noir changed him in a way Ladybug's changed her.

Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed at the fragility of the moment as she watched Chat pull up his shirt (blue, silk, very fancy; she knew Chat Noir was rich, but this was mansion-limousine-perfect-hair-always rich) to reveal the severity of his wound. It wasn't as bad as she thought. The wound, not how she felt.

Chat Noir was in her room. Or, more importantly, Chat Noir was in her room as _himself_ , as the guy behind the mask, as the barest and realest part of him. As in, he was here as the person who went to school like a regular guy, the person who ate at a table, maybe with a family who loved him, the person who had friends apart from Ladybug, the person who was her soulmate.

She could look up now and know for sure the face her past self had loved so much, had pushed into her again and again that this face was to be worshiped and adored.

But, no.

She had promised him, and he had promised her, too, when they first started their hero days. Real lives and alter egos just don't mix.

The skin beneath the shirt was smooth, save for the still-bleeding mess of a slice. Tanned, the color of honey, and she wasn't all that surprised either to see that he was fairly muscular.

As she said to him, she focused on her work. Her eyes didn't wander, her eyes didn't dare try to glimpse one more clue of the boy she knew only as Chat Noir.

When her fingers touched his skin, a shiver went down his body, like she had electrecuted him.

"Chat?" she breathed. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I'll ever be," he whispered, "or you know, as okay as I can be with a bleeding wound."

"I'll get to work now," she informed him. "Be brave, warrior boy."

"I'm always brave."

Marinette scoffed, and got to work.

 

 

 

"O-kay," said Marinette, pulling the thread towards her and cuting it away, "done."

"I feel better already," he said, the voice that felt disembodied even with its hyper-real form right in front of Marinette. She was aware of everything in her line of vision, almost too aware.

Without meaning to, she'd memorized the color of his shirt, even though it was ruined and he'd never wear it again. She'd taken note of the hand that curved around his side when it hurt too much for him, of the slim, beautiful fingers and the perfect crescents of his cuticles. She was also very aware of how sloppy her work was on his cut; the stitches were uneven, crooked at some places, but it would hold for now.

"Okay, cat," she said, standing up and yawning. At least now she was sleepy. "I've dealt with it for now, but get checked tomorrow, okay? I worry about you."

"Don't," he said. She'd closed her eyes, but she could hear him standing from her bed and transforming again. "With your careful hands, Marinette, I'll be in good shape in no time."

"Chat--" she protested, but then suddenly there was a presence before her, and Chat's cold paws on her arms, and she was pulled forwards-- "Chat!"

Warm lips kissed her forehead, and Marinette's eyes almost flew open, but no she couldn't see him, not after how close she'd been to his real self, and instead she just stood there as he kissed her forehead for a while, and then pulled away, leaving a burning sensation where his lips had touched.

He bent towards her again, she could feel him move, and his voice was at her ear. "Thank you, Princess," he said. "You saved my life."

 _If only it were true years ago_. "It wasn't that bad a wound, but you're welcome, Chat Noir."

"I have to go," he said. "Thanks again. Good night, Marinette."

"Good night, Chat Noir."

This was what Marinette heard and felt: footsteps fading away, muffled by her carpet, the sound of her window being pulled open. A slight hesitation. The pinpricks of the cold night wind on her skin. The emptiness of her gut, the indescribable sadness in her heart.

"Good night," he said again, and the sound of the window closing behind him echoed through her veins.

When Marinette opened her eyes again, Chat Noir was long gone.


	4. Today is White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Adrien has some thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> || this chapter's more of a filler to explain some things you may be wondering about, so it's a bit long xD enjoy!  
> \- and if you find anything bothering you, feel free to ask or point it out, it may be something I missed!  
> \- thank you so much for all the comments, they're so touching and heart-warming, love you guys!  
> \- i do have a tumblr where you can chat with me, if you want! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/blujamas!  
> \- fixed some minor issues in the previous chapters

Marinette yawned, not for the first time that day. Alya glanced worriedly at her, but she didn't give her friend a chance to ask why she looked so exhausted. She just smiled, and shifted away from Alya.

She'd barely gotten any sleep the night before, first because of her worrying after Chat, and then because of Chat himself.

So close. She'd gotten _so close_ to finding out who the boy behind the mask was last night. A glance up, that had been all it would have taken to know whose soul she was leaving out to suffer by not admitting that her past belonged to him, that her soul was searching for him. (He was looking for her, too; it was a very, very rare case for two souls to not be looking for each other, a rare and tragic case.) It was going to be so easy to say, _"I know who held you when you died the last time,"_ or, " _It's me, Chat, your last memory is of me, but..."_ There was always, unfailingly, a _but._

_But I'm in love with someone else. But I can't love you like that, even if that's what you and my last self would want. But it's too hard to look at you, it's too hard to be your friend when I'm like this, sometimes. But not even Tikki, keeper of most of my secrets, knows it's you, you're always going to be a secret._

What would have happened if she had looked? Would it have changed anything, if Chat turned out to be someone she knew? And was Chat okay now?

"Morning, Marinette," Nino greeted, slipping into his seat and turning instinctively to Alya, who grinned.

(Answer: 7 seconds.)

"Where's Adrien?" Marinette asked. Nino and Adrien always arrived together, save for the times when Adrien's busy modelling schedule kept him away from school. "At a shoot?"

"Oh, nah. He called me a little while ago, said he had to go to the hospital, I think?"

"Is he okay?" Alya and Marinette asked at the same time.

Nino nodded. "Yep. He said it was just a check-up, or something. Said it was some minor injury he got while shooting some stuff, but he's all patched up; now is just follow-up routine."

"Huh. Maybe we should pay him a visit later," Alya suggested, glancing at Marinette briefly.

Marinette's heart skipped at the thought.

"I don't know..." Nino gave a little shudder. "His father might be around. The dude gives me chills even after all this time. It took massive effort to keep from bolting when I asked him to throw Adrien the party. More effort than it took to not run away screaming when I asked you out," he added to Alya, smirking.

"Oh, come on." Alya hit him lightly between the shoulder blades, laughing. "Don't be such a coward, Nino. Where's the heroic war guy I treated a hundred years ago, huh?"

"No fair using the past life card, my lady," Nino said.

Marinette perked up, her gaze snapping towards Nino so fast her neck cricked. Neither Alya or Nino noticed, they were too invested in each other, moving on to the subject of the past and souls.

 _My lady?_ Could it be... No. Of course not. It was just a coincidence, not only Chat Noir used that term of endearment. And besides, Nino was Alya's, through and through.

Last night had made her paranoid; her proximity to the real Chat Noir had left her subconsciously looking for even the tiniest reasons to suspect anyone.

Which she shouldn't be doing. She'd promised herself and Chat not to.

"Alright," said Marinette.

"Huh?" Alya snapped back to her, their previous conversation forgotten in her and Nino's banter.

"I said, alright," Marinette repeated, "we can go visit Adrien. I'm worried about him."

Alya's eyebrows pulled together. "Are you sure? You're always busy during the afternoons, aren't you? You've got that... that thing."

Alya didn't know about Ladybug's patrols, but Marinette always went off to protect Paris the moment the school bell sounded, if only to escape the lingering lovebirds at every corner of the after-school convergence.

"I've got time." She wasn't shirking her duties again. She'd never ever again, not after last night. She'll just drop by, see if Adrien was okay, and that was all. "We'll stop by after class."

Nino and Alya exchanged a glance, and between that glance, a conversation.

(Answer: 2 seconds.)

Alya turned fully to Marinette with a grin. "Sure, first thing after the bell."

 

 

Marinette had been to Adrien's house before; the first time, she'd been so nervous and intimidated about everything that he'd had to assure her that it was fine, _you don't have worry so much_ and _you're my friend, this isn't weird at all._

She knew what to expect when she, Nino and Alya rounded the corner: large intricate gates, three limousines parked around a gurgling fountain (a fact Nino was happy about; there was one limousine missing, which meant that Gabriel Agreste was out), pale-white cobblestones leading to a sprawling, high-windowed mansion surrounded by lean trees and grass as green as Adrien's eyes, and the guardhouse by the gate, with the Gorilla waiting inside to admit people.

He tipped his cap at them when they arrived before him. "Welcome back, Master Nino, Miss Alya, and Miss Marinette. Should I page Master Adrien of your arrival?"

Nino shook his head. "We want to surprise him," he explained.

The Gorilla pushed the button to open the gates, which rattled apart to admit them. "Master Adrien's been confined to his room. He tried to go to school, insisting he's fine, but Mr. Agreste wouldn't have it."

"So he's fine, then?" Alya asked.

"Seems so."

They waved him goodbye and walked up to Adrien's door, which opened automatically. Nathalie merely glanced at them from the front desk before going back to her typing, muttering, "He's in his room," as they passed her, too.

All three of them already knew the way from all the times they'd visited over the years. It was down a well-furnished hallway with hanging paintings of the Agreste family in ornate frames (which was just Adrien and his father, Aline Agreste was a taboo topic around the house, especially around Gabriel), fresh flowers in vases that cost more than the Marinette's phone, an intricately-woven mat older than Paris, and countless doors that opened to rooms richer than the hallway; more hallways, up a flight of stairs, and into one more hallway--this time, a hallway stripped bare, and more modern than the rest of the house. Simple white walls, checkered tiles, narrower, too; and beyond it all, the simple white door that lead to Adrien's room.

Marinette sucked in a breath as Nino knocked once, twice, on the door.

"Yes?" Muffled, but still very much Adrien's voice.

"Hey, Adri," Alya called, "it's us!"

"Oh, yeah, come in!"

Nino pushed the door open, and Marinette breathed out before following him inside the room of the boy she was choosing over her soul's last wish.

 

 

 

**A D R I E N**

  
There was a game Adrien Agreste liked to play with himself. _Question: what color fits today?_

He believed a day had a specific color scheme, a single color to which his entire 24 hours gravitated towards. A single hue in which his day would be made up of. Yesterday, it had been blue.

The blue of his soulmate's eyes as he floated away from reality and into the memory he was prone to falling on to, the blue of the sky outside his classroom window, the blue of Chloe's eyes as she kissed him goodbye for the day, the blue of Marinette's as their eyes met across the hall, and the flash of raw pain he saw there before she smiled and everything was alright again, and the blue of the mugger's hoodie, flashing at him as the knife flashed through the night...

And also the blue of the Paris skyline as he waited, as Chat Noir, on his and Ladybug's rooftop, a blue turning darker and darker as he continued to wait, and wait, and wait...

She never came last night.

He was still worried. He wondered if she was sick. Sick with an illness, or sick of him. He couldn't figure out which possibility was worse.

He couldn't go out tonight, because despite Marinette's passable stitches and the check-ups he'd had, his wound was still fresh and throbbing, and every movement sent waves of pain through his side. He wondered if she'd be okay on her own.

She was Ladybug, so she could take care of herself, but he was Chat Noir, and he was always, unfailingly at his side. Last night, her absence had felt like dead air beside him, and he'd occasionally turn to tell her an awful pun only to realize there was no one to tell.

It wasn't the first time he'd been on patrol alone, but she'd always explained beforehand why she wouldn't be there. A family affair, plans with her friends...

And then there'd been Chloe who, upon hearing the news of Adrien's "accident," from a tip at the hospital, had been calling him insistently, non-stop, always in the same shrieking voice that was much more painful than the actual wound.

Chloe, Adrien's soulmate. What a farce. He didn't believe her at all, when she claimed him as her soulmate, but there were the obvious facts. She'd matched his soulmate description, for one. Blue eyes, a fierce growl.

" _Back off_ ," his past self had heard from her as he laid dying in her arms, a warning to people he couldn't see or didn't care about. There was only her eyes, the blueness of them, the startling tears pooling in them. " _I said, back off! He's mine, he's mine_!"

Chloe was prone to saying things like that, though admittedly with less passion and more irritating, unfounded claim.

So that left Adrien stumped. He wasn't very fond of Chloe, but he couldn't exactly push her away without real proof. Pushing away soulmates (even one you had doubts of) was extremely taboo, especially in the city of love, even when everyone can agree that you're terribly ill-matched. So he had to put up with Chloe all day, every day, even when he tried telling her that cooing at him from a phone wasn't going to magically heal his wound.

That was all Adrien had thought about the past couple of hours: blue, Chloe, his guilt over possibly driving Ladybug away, and the thought of leaving her alone tonight, if she decided to show.

And, of course, the color for today.

It was easy. It was basically the only color he'd seen all day.

White. The white of the glaring hospital lights, the white of the walls, both in his room and the multiple clinics he had been wheeled to even when he insisted he was fine, the white of lab coats, of nurse uniforms. The whiteness of his skin in contrast to the red, barely-healed gash on his side. The white of the blinds Nathalie had drawn over his windows.

So much white. It was sickening him.

Adrien groaned underneath his covers and turned to one side. His covers were white, too, but the backs of his eyelids were not and so he took comfort in the darkness.

" _Adrieeeeeeeen._ "

"Plagg, go away," he mumbled, turning over again. "Please leave me alone today, I don't have time."

Adrien felt the kwami settle on his shoulder, Plagg's little hands slamming against it, over and over, demanding. "Come on, you haven't given me cheese all day!"

"Shut up," Adrien mumbled. "I'm in the middle of a crisis here, Plagg."

"You always are, what with the whole _I think my soulmate is Chloe, but I'm so in love with Ladybug, oh what to do, what to do, I hate Chloe soooooooo much."_

"First of all, Plagg, I don't _hate_ Chloe, I just find her extremely easy to dislike, and the most irritating person I have ever met."

"Second of all?"

Adrien thought for a moment. "That's it, that's all that's wrong with what you said. My life is as much as you say it to be."

"Have you ever thought of Marinette as your soulmate?" Plagg asked suddenly.

"Once or twice," Adrien admitted. He wasn't stupid, there was the eye color to think of. "But she can't be. She's too sweet. The person in my last memory wasn't exactly gentle with words."

"Well, it _was_ a private moment and those guys _were_ intruding, and you _were_ dying, so I can't exactly blame her for being ungentle." Plagg knew Adrien's last memory purely because he was there when it happened, but since the kwami only saw things Adrien could see, too, they had both only seen the blue eyes those last moments of Adrien's life. "Where was Ladybug when that happened?" Adrien had asked before. "I don't know," Plagg had admitted, a strange note coming into his voice. "We were alone on that mission. I found it strange, too. I've always wondered where Ladybug headed after that, or _during_ that, for that matter."

"True," said Adrien now, after a while, "but no. Not Mari. She's my best friend, I don't--I don't love her the way I do Ladybug."

" _Uuuugh_ ," Plagg grumbled. "It all comes back to Ladybug, doesn't it?"

Adrien shook his head weakly; it was too much of a bother to speak against Plagg today.

"Don't feel so glum, Adrien." Oddly, this seemed like an actual consolation from Plagg, the most emotionally-obtuse person Adrien knew. "I had a Chat Noir years ago that died too early," continued Plagg, sounding genuinely saddened by the fact. "I wonder where his soul is, right now. He fought valiantly in the second world war, I have you know."

"You hardly talk about the past." Adrien wanted to reach out and pat the kwami on the head, or something, but he didn't want to move.

"I'm a firm believer that the past does not necessarily have to affect the present, or the future, for that matter. Leave the past in the past, as I always say."

"You never say that," Adrien pointed out, but he was smiling for the first time that day. "And aren't I that Chat Noir that died; that was _my_ soul, wasn't it? You always choose my soul as Chat Noir."

"I like to pretend that you're all different."

"Is that a kwami thing? Choosing the same soul over and over as your host?"

"I can't speak for all of us; Tikki, for example. She's had a lot of different souls for her because unlike me, she's too impatient to go looking for the same soul over and over again like I did for you. She doesn't understand that it's way easier to bond with people whose souls you already know." Plagg paused. "Or maybe it's because she has this strange way of thinking that I should be ashamed for giving the same soul hell over and over... but you don't remember it anyways..." 

"Plagg, you sadist," Adrien mumbled, but there was no conviction behind it.

"So _no_ ," Plagg continued, ignoring him, "to answer your unspoken question, I have no idea who this lifetime's Ladybug is, and Tikki has no idea if it's even the same Ladybug as the one you were with before."

"Oh." Adrien would be lying if he'd said it didn't disappoint him a little bit to have his hopes crushed again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, startling Plagg into motion. Adrien felt the kwami rise and heard the faint click of his bedside drawer as Plagg raced inside it, and Adrien answered the knocks with, "Yes?"

"Hey, Adri, it's us." It was Alya.

They were visiting him? It felt good to be a person worthy of being visited. "Oh, yeah, come in!" he called back, trying not to sound too cheerful for an injured guy.

The door creaked slowly open. Adrien lifted over his covers to see his best friends in the world grinning back at him. First, Nino, then Alya, and then there was Marinette.

Ah, Marinette.

Sweet, shy Marinette who, before Nino and Alya found each other again, couldn't quite meet his eyes; who was now one of the closest people to his heart, who knew every inch and flaw of him, who didn't judge him for it, and who he could joke with and laugh with as naturally as breathing air; who, when he was Chat Noir, was almost like the stronger version of herself, more confindent and less conscious.

But also more guilty. He didn't understand her guilt, not the guilt from last night, or the guilt from all the other nights he'd stopped by her place as Chat, and he'd look over her to see that she was looking away, as if meeting his gaze was painful.

Ladybug acted that way sometimes, too. As if every little thing she did for him was either a crime against the world, or the absolute last thing she had to do was keep him safe. It got confusing, sometimes.

Why was it that two of the women he loved most in the world looked at him like he'd killed her in their past lives?

"Hey, dude." Nino sat by his bed, and Adrien tore his gaze away from Mari (who was once again looking far away), to grin at his best friend. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been stabbed in the stomach."

A dry joke, but they were obliged to smile anyways because a) they didn't know that was actually true, b) they were his best friends, and c) they were generally just kind people.

"What happened?" Marinette asked, sitting beside Nino, right by Adrien's hand. "Did you trip trying to get to the buffet table like last time?"

"Never again," Adrien said, shaking his head, then smiling at her to ease some of the tension in the room. "I forgot my things at the studio, so I went to get them back. I tripped on cable wires on the way out and grazed a table as I went down. They make really sharp-edged tables these days, let me tell you."

A lie. Every word of it. The same words he had uttered to his father. These days, it had become second-nature for him to lie, something Aline Agreste would definitely disprove of. _But_ , Adrien reminded himself, _in the end, even Mother lied._

"Aw, my poor blondie." Alya sat by his head, patting him affectionately on the forehead. "You really have to be careful next time."

"You'll be fine, I assume?" Marinette asked. He felt all their eyes on him, searching for any signs of discomfort, making sure he really was okay, something nobody in this household did.

Adrien focused on Marinette. She looked away, but only in a way that only those who knew what to look for could see: the subtle shift of her eyes, the smooth tilting of her chin, the slight opening of lips.

"The doctors say so, at least," he told her and the other two. "I'll be fine, probably back on my feet in a few days; it wasn't a big wound."

It was a bit odd, saying this to the girl who originally stitched him back into place last night, but he'd never really been able to see Marinette with Adrien as the Marinette with Chat Noir. She was at ease with both of them, sure, but with Chat Noir, she was sarcastic and no-nonsense, but with Adrien, she seemed to be treating him as something... fragile? Something to be protected, something to be saved.

Did that mean Chat Noir wasn't worth salvation? Were they not the same person?

Adrien shook the thought away, and laughed at some joke Alya told. Whatever the case, even when the world was flipped upside down or over and under, Marinette was one his best friends, and nothing was ever going to change that.

 


	5. Chat Noir, 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || in which Adrien wakes up screaming, and Chat Noir is killed. Not necessarily in that order.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I HAD MORE THINGS TO CLEAR UP OH MY GOD I MISSED SO MANY THINGS  
> \- chapter's a bit long, and stretched out, because WRITING SLUMP THAT'S WHY  
> -a very Adrien x Plagg chapter.  
> \- we look more into Plagg's character, and the stuff he's going through because it's not angst unless EVERYBODY suffers.

**C H A T   N O I R,**

**1942**

Chat Noir stood in the middle of the battlefield, chest heaving, heart racing, claws out and dripping blood. There were many cuts along his suit, all revealing ruined flesh, and he was so tired. Tired of this battle, tired of this entire bloody war. And tired of waiting.

 

 _Where was she?_ When the general had sent a messenger to Chat’s private bunker, calling him to arms, he had expected that he’d sent one to Ladybug as well. After all, Chat and Ladybug were a package deal; you could not take one without the other. He’d been right, the general _had_ sent for his lady, too, but she was nowhere to be seen.

 

Chat dodged out of the way of a bullet hail, and then picked his way over the fallen bodies of both his comrades and his enemies. He didn’t dare look at who he was stepping over. The grief of seeing a familiar face staring lifelessly into the dark sky would be enough to cripple him and render him immobile. He’d learned that the hard way.

 

Nino was assigned elsewhere this week, in a field less battled on than this one, which was a small relief, and Alya was safe in a tent deep in the forest. She’ll be safe, too. But Ladybug—

 

Where in the world was she?

 

 _“Adrien,”_ hissed Plagg, low and menacing in the heat of battle. “Stop looking for Ladybug and start _fighting._ You’re going to get yourself killed.”

 

“I can’t help it. She could be in danger.” Chat ran over to help a soldier fighting off two opponents. He tackled one to the ground, and Chat's ally shot the other two times before running off again. Chat held the wide-eyed enemy’s face between his hands, then said, without thinking, without flinching, _“Cataclysm_.”

 

The enemy soldier’s screams rang in Chat’s ears and he struggled, trying to buck Chat off of him, beating at Chat’s waist and begging. Chat didn’t care, couldn’t care. Mercy was useless here, where a single hesitation could kill. The soldier’s skin started to stretch against his skull, and his protests were getting weaker and weaker, and Chat pushed himself off the soldier when the deed was done and the enemy was reduced to a pile of bones.

 

 _No mercy_ was the Miraculous motto.

 

Chat’s ring beeped in alarm. He cursed, and Plagg said, “I need to regenerate, Adrien. Let me go.”

 

“Not yet,” he said, turning away from the pile of bones, “I need to find her.”

 

He ran across the field, dodging bullets when he could and fighting when someone stepped in his way. He couldn’t Cataclysm anymore, but he had his claws for the killing. He sliced and parried, not thinking about the guts he spilled or the life he had just ended. Thinking could get him killed as much as mercy could.

 

“Adrien!” Plagg screamed, his voice drowning out the shrill screams of Chat’s newest victim. “ _Adrien, look up!”_

 

Chat looked up, and met the eyes of an aged soldier staring at him, so close that Chat should've heard him approach. An enemy. Chat moved towards him, ready to meet him head-on, but then the soldier grinned, stopping Chat in his tracks.

 

“So this is France’s famed Black Cat,” the soldier said, his grin sharp. “To be honest, I expected better than a boy in a suit slashing anyone he wished.”

 

“First of all, that’s _Chat Noir_ , to you, you Nazi scum,” Chat growled. “And second of all, shut up.”

 

The soldier chuckled. The battle raged on around them, but there was some kind of force keeping everyone else away, like a bubble around just the two of them, muffling the chaos from beyond. Chat felt the force like a physical thing. His movements felt unnatural, unreal. Slow and muddled.

 

“ _Akuma,_ ” he spat.

 

The soldier chuckled. “Oh, my boy, I’m more than just an akuma.” He spread his arms, as if to present himself. “I am Hawkmoth, and today is the day you die, Chat Noir.”

 

Chat growled, low in his throat. He raked his eyes over the man. So _this_ was the man who pulled the strings, the man who’d been giving he and Ladybug hell for years. “You can try.”

 

“Tsk, tsk,” said Hawkmoth, his mouth tilting in a feral grin. “I thought you’d learned your lesson by now, cat. You can’t do anything without Ladybug.”

 

Chat tried not to flinch at Hawkmoth’s words. True, he’d had his doubts about his worth for a while, but Ladybug had made him feel important, and that was enough.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hawkmoth’s grin spread like a disease, his gray eyes lighting up like a fire.

 

“You’re mad,” Chat hissed. “I can handle myself as much as Ladybug can handle herself.”

 

“Oh?” There was a strange spark in the older soldier’s eyes. “Funny you should mention that. The reason why I took so long to greet you today, my boy, is because your Ladybug put up quite a fight when I ambushed her in the woods.”

 

Chat stiffened. The world became quiet, and still. “ _What?_ ”

 

Hawkmoth’s laugh was cruel. “I’ve been planning to get rid of you for a while now, just biding my time until I got you alone. And what a stroke of _luck_ that Ladybug was having some… _issues_ … and ran late, unable to meet her partner before I got to her.”

 

 _Stop talking, stop talking,_ Chat begged silently, his feet planted hard on the ground. _Stop talking, stop talking._

 

But Hawkmoth didn’t. “It was real sweet, you know, when I pinned her down and put a gun to her forehead, she screamed your name. But, no, she didn’t say _Chat, help,_ she said, _Chat, run,_ and just assumed you’d hear her last plea.”

 

 _Don’t listen, just don’t listen, they’re lies, lies, lies…_ Chat squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and even that movement was hollow. Hawkmoth was lying. He had to be. Chat would know if Ladybug was dead. He trusted himself to.

 

The madness in Hawkmoth’s eyes was taunting him now. Chat took a step forward.

 

The man’s voice dropped into a whisper. “And when I pulled the trigger, I think I might have seen a spark of betrayal in those pretty blue eyes of hers, as if even after everything… she’d wanted you to come save her.” Another deranged laugh. “How can you when you can’t even save yourself?”

 

“Shut up.” Chat’s tone surprised him. It was calm, steady, with no trace of fury. Just emptiness, hollowness. “It’s a fight you want, right? You got it.”

 

“You can’t fight him alone,” Plagg hissed. “And not in this state.”

 

“I’ll be fine on my own.” Chat took up his offense position, learned and furnished in military school and the Miraculous Program training. His eyes zeroed in on the grinning monster, the source of all his misery for the past years. Every time Ladybug was almost ripped away from him, every wound on her and every hurt on his body, it was because of that man that stood there, looking like such a normal soldier. “I am not useless.”

 

“Ah, but you are.” Hawkmoth shook his head. His hair was dark and laced with gray. “You’re terribly _worthless_ without her.”

 

Chat charged.

 

He knew something was going to go terribly wrong the moment he moved his feet, and felt dragged down. Like there were weights on his ankles, chaining him to the ground. Chat looked up in surprise, and saw Hawkmoth slowly take out a gun from his holster.

 

 _No._ Chat pulled at his legs and moved left, trying to circle around the man. But ropes pulled him back to his original position, like invisible bonds. When he looked up at Hawkmoth, the man was just standing there, whistling a cheery tune and polishing his gun with a handkerchief, taking his time, as if he had everything figured out.

 

Dread crept up on Chat, too late, as if even his emotions were stifled in this void the akuma had made for the two of them. He watched in horror as Hawkmoth looked up, slowly, from his gun, and _smiled_. He lifted his arm. Pointed the gun at Chat. Chat struggled against the weariness of his bones, panicking at the sight of the barrel at him. _Away_ , he had to get away, to find Ladybug, make sure she was safe, and get himself safe, too. _Move!_

 

Chat didn't see the trigger pulled, but only heard the gunshot, echoing and endless and sharp, and saw the bullet slowly coming towards him. He _saw the bullet._ It was slow, suspended in the air, and Chat could've easily dodged it if he was only free... but he wasn't, and the bullet struck him in the chest.

 

The void imploded as Hawkmoth released him, and the bullet's sudden renewed force knocked Chat backward. He screamed, high and pained, and Hawkmoth's cackle rang in his ears.

 

"Pathetic!" Hawkmoth shrieked, and Chat squinted through his pain to see the man hunched over and clutching his stomach, just laughing. "This was _too easy!_ Is this the best the Program can do?! A pitiful boy, sad and alone, and a _woman_." Hawkmoth straightened up, a smile on his face. "See? I was right. You're _weak_. You both are. Once I harnessed my complete power, once I finally regained full strength, this was child's play."

 

Chat placed his hand at the spot where it hurt the most, gasping for air. He was heady, and spots (the bad kind) danced across his vision. When he retracted his hand, it was red. Hawkmoth flicked his gaze over his crippled form and stepped forwards.  


"Now for your ring..."

 

"LIKE HELL I'D GIVE YOU PLAGG!" Chat shrieked, using his fragile strength to put one hand over the other, as if that was enough to shield his kwami from this monster. He didn't have anything else. If he'd Cataclysm now, he'd lose his strength and de-transform, losing the added force of the Chat Noir suit that he would need to survive.

 

" _Chat!_ " Plagg's voice screamed, louder than he ever had. "Get away! STAND UP, CHAT NOIR!"

 

"How cute," Hawkmoth commented dryly. He stepped in front of Chat's form. "But, in the end, _useless_."

 

Hawkmoth brought his boot down on Chat's chest. Chat screamed as pain wrecked through his whole body, like fire licking up every inch of him. Plagg's screams almost drowned out his own as the kwami screamed, _"Help! Someone, help! CHAT NOIR'S BEING ATTACKED!"_

 

"That's futile, little plague-bringer," said Hawkmoth, stepping back. "I've planned it so that nobody's going to be crossing here in a long, long while... All the more time to get acquainted with you, little cat."

 

"No," Chat groaned, turning over in pain. He coughed, and blood came gushing out of his mouth. His world was just _pain,_ pain and more pain, and more and more, and more as Hawkmoth brought his boot down again and again, laughing all the while. " _No, please..._ "

 

He'd lost count of how many times Hawkmoth had kicked him, how many taunts he'd heard. All Chat knew then was pain.

 

And when he lay, not quite dead but almost, beside the feet of a merciless man, all he could say, when Hawkmoth knelt, was, " _Please don't take him..."_

 

"Adrien..." sobbed Plagg. He'd been sobbing for a while now.

 

"I really am sorry for you," said Hawkmoth, not looking sorry at all as he ran his bare hand over Chat's bloody face, brushing away the stray strands of sticky blond hair. The gesture seemed oddly gentle, but Chat still used the last of his energy to roll away from him, even when the motion sent new waves of pain down his body. "So young, and already thrust into the horrors of war. So young, and already so merciless, so broken."

 

"Go kill yourself," Chat groaned.

 

"It's not that easy, my boy," Hawkmoth said, almost sadly.

 

And when his hand reached out to pry off the ring from Chat's lifeless fingers, when Chat was ready to hang on to his leg and let him drag him until he died, just to keep him from stealing the last of Chat's hope away so easily, when Chat was ready to bite and chew off Hawkmoth's face off, something happened.

 

 A lucky thing, a _miraculous_ thing. Chat spotted a gun of one of the soldiers he'd killed, laying on the ground just inches away from him, and without hesitation, he grabbed for it, not minding the dizzying pain that came with the action, and shot Hawkmoth before he could even touch Plagg.

 

He didn't know where he hit the bastard, just heard him scream, and then muffled curses.

 

"You little shit!" he howled. " _I'll kill you!_ "

 

Chat shot him again.

 

Another scream. The gun was empty. Chat braced himself for Hawkmoth's retaliation, and when it didn't come, he opened his eyes to find himself alone. _Nobody's going to be crossing here in a long, long while..._

 

With a strangled moan, Chat curled around himself and began to wait.

 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there for, waiting. Just waiting to die. But soon, whatever power Hawkmoth had over the clearing was gone, and shadows passed by his line of vision, and sounds, too.

 

 _“Chat?”_ A somewhat-familiar voice, shocked and disbelieving. _“Oh my God, Chat Noir!”_ And then the feral cry of a soldier who lost a comrade, and the _pop, pop, pop_ of bullets, sounding fainter and fainter…

 

And then there was another voice, a while later, unfamiliar but hoarse with grief anyway, “They killed Chat Noir! They killed _Chat Noir!_ ” And the sound of feet on gravel carrying the messenger away.

 

 _I’m not dead,_ he thought, _I’m still alive, come back, please._ But there was blood in his lungs, in his mouth, in his eyes, even though they were closed.

 

Red.

 

All he could see was red.

 

Everything hurt so much, too much.

 

 _“_ Adrien,” Plagg sobbed, his voice thick emotion. It surprised Chat to hear such misery from his kwami. “Adrien, open your eyes. Adrien, _please_.”

 

The bullet in his lungs shifted with every breath, and pain laced every nerve of his body. It was a crushing pain, above any other pain in the world. It felt like being gradually pressed under a boulder, with spikes at his back. Like falling down a hole straight into Hell. It felt like flying straight for the sun, skin peeling away, life burning out. It felt like _dying_.

 

“Plagg.” Chat Noir fought to keep himself sane over the pain. “Plagg, _it hurts_ …”

 

“I know. I know, my friend, but you have to keep alive,” Plagg begged, as honestly as he could beg. “If you can’t do it for me, do it for _her_. Keep alive for _her_.”

 

 _For her…_ Chat let out a shuddering breath, and forced his heart to keep beating, _please don’t stop just yet,_ forced his lungs to keep letting him breathe, forced his body to not give out on him yet. Not just yet.

 

 _I’m alive,_ Chat thought, _I’m still alive. I’ll live._

 

He waited there, keeping his breathing even, bleeding out his life’s blood on the gravel like the rest of the dying soldiers around him. He couldn’t hear anything beyond his own harsh exhales and inhales, not the battle, not even Plagg’s encouragements.

 

He waited there, only seeing red, and held on.

 

He waited, and waited. He didn’t know how much time passed, but he knew he was no longer waiting for the bittersweet release of death.

 

He was waiting for her.

 

“C-Chat?” A voice like morning, like sunshine, like joy. It meant everything to Chat to hear it just then.

 

He smiled through the pain, and forced his eyes open.

 

“Hi,” he said. _Oh God, the pain in saying it._

 

She said nothing. She only looked at him, at his broken form, and _stared_. It was an intense kind of stare, like he was the only thing she could see, like he was the only thing that mattered, like the world was second to him.

 

“I’ve been waiting,” Chat added, grinning wide. He was sure that his teeth were stained red. His lungs were giving out now. His body was shutting down. He thanked God for making him this body that could live long enough to see her one last time, and apologized for getting it ruined. “You missed one hell of a battle.”

 

_“Chat.”_

 

_Question: how long can I hear her speak before I die?_

 

“Chat, my God, _Chat.”_ She fell to his knees before him, but he was only following her eyes. It was the only thing he could hold on to; the rest of the world had gone black.

 

Blue. So blue.

 

She pulled him to her, his bleeding torso on her lap. She was crying, and he was sure he was, too. He was crying because of the pain, and because _she was here_ , and he didn’t have to die alone after all.

 

“Who did this to you?” she asked, placing her hand on his chest, where the bullet had shot through him, as if she could push it out of him, or keep his blood in him even though he’d already lost too much. “ _Who_?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, grabbing her hand with everything left of him. He forced his eyes to stay open. He had to keep looking at her eyes for as long as he could. “What matters is that you’re here. You’re finally here.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, every syllable breaking apart on her lips. “ _I am so sorry, Chat…_ ”

 

“It’s fine.” He squeezed her hand. “It-It’s all good, my lady.”

 

 _~~Answer: 1 minute, 2 seconds.~~ _ ~~~~

“Don’t die, Chat,” she begged. He could hardly hear her words over her sobbing. “Please don’t leave me. _Chat, please._ ”

 

“I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t think I can do that,” he said. He closed his eyes, giving in to pain.

 

_~~Answer: 1 minute, 15 seconds.~~ _

_"Back off,"_ he heard her growl, not to him. Maybe to stragglers trying to witness the death of a war hero. _"_ I said, _back off!_ He's mine, he's mine _!_ "

 

He opened his eyes again to see hers, and smiled. “ _My lady…_ ”

 

Fierce, unyielding, her voice. “I won’t let you go,” she said, pulling him tighter to her to prove her point. “You’ll stay with me, you hear? I know you can do it.”

 

Chat tried not to grimace at the hope in her eyes. He could’ve told her it was futile, but he didn’t want to add anymore heartache to her. It was enough already.

 

_~~Answer: 2 minutes.~~ _

 

This was enough. He buried his face on the crook of her arm and closed his eyes. “My lady…”

 

He felt her rest her head on his shoulder, felt her tears quickly dampening his tattered suit. And there, in the middle of a battlefield, with blood streaming out of him, and his lady’s arms around him, Chat Noir felt like he was home.

 

“ _I love you,_ ” she whispered. “I love you, I’ll always love you, please don’t go…” She choked on her words, and the hitch in her voice crushed his heart.

 

“My lady…” _I love you._ He was too tired to finish, but he wished with all his heart that he could’ve. _I love you. I love you, never doubt it, never doubt that I love you._ With one sharp breath, in and out, he said, “ _My lady,_ ” one last time, to the girl that owned every inch of his heart and soul.

 

“Chat Noir, _stay. Please._ ”

 

He closed his eyes, and saw sunshine and bare feet as they raced up a porch, laughing with all the joy in the world, unaware that a few days later they’d be here, with him bleeding out between her arms. He remembered innocence, he remembered ignorance, he remembered peace. He saw blue eyes, and remembered this moment, this pain of losing her, this pain of leaving her, _this_ pain. There was only pain.

 

“ _Chat, no_!”

 

_Answer: three minutes._

 

 

**A D R I E N,**

**Present**

 

Adrien bolted awake, gasping for air. The crushing weight was slowly lifting from his chest, but he was gasping and reaching out for the pitcher of water Nathalie left at his bedside table. Hands shaking, he poured himself a cup and drank, deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

 

The glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the floor, awakening Plagg; the kwami had been sleeping soundly on the pile of handkerchiefs Adrien had left out for him on the table. Plagg rushed to Adrien, a shadow flitting in and out of his vision.

 

The room was still dark, and Adrien’s watch told him it was still two in the morning. Plagg levitated in front of him, his tiny hands on Adrien’s sweaty brow, trying to raise his head.

 

Adrien shut his eyes, still breathing hard. _Red._ All he could see was red, and blue, and all he could feel was the bullet shattering through bone and ripping through his lungs, and the sharp pain of the ground beneath him when he fell, and the agonizing realization that he was never going to see his lady again. And _oh, God,_ he could still feel it, the pain, the _dying_.

 

“ _Adrien_ ,” said Plagg, afraid for him, “you’re okay, calm down. What was it?”

 

“The nightmares,” Adrien gasped, then coughed, bile rising up in his throat. “ _They’re back,_ Plagg. The memories…”

 

Usually, the memories stayed in his daydreams, far away and unpainful. But in his nightmares, that last memory was real, and it was him killing all those people, him being killed.

 

Adrien raised his eyes to his kwami. “The knife wound must have triggered something in my brain. That happens, right?”

 

“Of course, of course,” said Plagg, quickly, “but you should call someone to help. Adrien, you’re shaking.”

 

Adrien glanced at his hand, which was indeed trembling to the fingertips. With a mirthless laugh, he used it to push his sweaty hair out of his face. “I’m in shock,” he said, which was already obvious.

 

“Call Nathalie,” Plagg insisted. “Or the Gorilla, or Nino, or Alya, or Mari, just get yourself some help.”

 

“I’ll have to explain a lot of things,” Adrien countered. “I’ll be fine on my own, Plagg.”

 

Plagg eyed him intensely, making Adrien gulp in surprise. Plagg was hardly ever laser-focused on anything that wasn’t cheese. “That’s what you said a hundred years ago, before you died.”

 

Adrien fell silent. He couldn’t seem to look at Plagg directly, as if looking at the kwami was enough to bring forth the pain of those lost moments, when all he could hear was Plagg’s disembodied sobbing and pleas. _Oh, God, the pleas..._

 

Without warning, he snatched the kwami out of the air. Plagg made a grunt of protest, but fell eerily quiet when Adrien hugged him to his chest.

 

Adrien bent over, Plagg safely in the cage of his hands. He buried his head in his sweat-soaked sheets, and began to cry.

 

 _“Oh, God,”_ he sobbed, continuously, a string of broken moans. “ _Oh, God, God,_ Plagg…”

 

Plagg didn’t say anything, no snide remark, no jibe, no attempt at consolation. He just stayed still inside Adrien’s hands, and was quiet. It was the best the kwami could do.

 

Adrien’s heart was beating unnaturally slowly, but with every beat came a crippling pain. And soon Adrien could taste his tears, and was thrown back into the memory of his past self’s tears, and his lady’s tears, too, mingling as the pain shut down everything he was made of, soul and body and all.

 

His lady…

 

(Chat Noir’s lady was most likely a nurse, rushing to his aid when the battle was finished. Or maybe a soldier, but the army didn’t let in women before, did they? Which was a huge mistake, seeing as strongest people in Adrien’s life were women. Was she a messenger, a spy? On his more hopeful days, he would sometimes think it was Ladybug. It made sense. She was his partner, she would’ve been the first alerted if something had happened to him. He’d even used the past Chat’s old nickname for his love on her and when she’d hissed at him not to, it only made him want to tease her more. The eyes, the fierceness. It made more sense than Chloe, that’s for sure.

 

But, no. If they _were_ soulmates, if the last memory of her past life _was_ of him, she’d have told him by now. She wouldn’t keep something she knew was important to both of them a secret. And _she knew_ who her soulmate was, she’d told him on that night on the Eiffel Tower. Besides their true identities, they didn’t have any secrets between them of that gravity. Adrien was as sure of that as he was sure that he was still alive. And there was everything Hawkmoth had said, which could have been just a lie, but still.)

 

Heart beating, breath catching, tears unrelenting, and aware of everything in his body that kept him going, he silently thanked every Being there was that he was alive, rejoicing in the way his fingers still obeyed him, loving the way he could still keep his blood inside him.

 

“Adrien?” Plagg’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The voice was muffled, but Adrien thanked the universe for that one constant in his lives.

 

He straightened up and opened his hands. The kwami floated at eye-level, and Adrien was surprised to find tears in Plagg’s eyes.

 

“I won’t put you through this again,” said Plagg. “This will be the last time your soul has to be associated with me.”

 

“No, no, Plagg.” Adrien used his sleeve to wipe his tears away, but it only made his vision blurry. Plagg was just a speck now, but he tried to give his kwami the most brilliant smile he could. “If it wasn’t for you, none of this would’ve happened—”

 

“Exactly!” Plagg shouted. “If it wasn’t for me, _none of this would’ve happened!_ ”

 

Adrien shook his head violently. “Plagg, no. I meant that if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have met Ladybug, I wouldn’t have had the chance to save the city I love most, I wouldn’t have had the chance to be myself, as Chat Noir. So thank you. Thank you for sticking with me.”

 

“But Adri,” said Plagg, “this… this is my fault. When you sustain any injuries that remind you of, of _that_ , you wake up screaming and I can’t do anything to help.”

 

“Plagg.” Adrien met Plagg’s gaze, even as his wound throbbed and his heart broke at having to remember, because he owed his kwami this, at the very least. “Plagg, stop crying, please. It wasn’t your fault, it never will be.”

 

“But—”

 

“I will be forever thankful of you.” _Among other things…_

 

Plagg flew at Adrien, and Adrien held his kwami to him. In that moment, with the little black miracle inside his hands, Adrien Agreste felt no pain.

 

 

**L A D Y B U G,**

**Present**

 

It was a mistake coming here. She knew it, but her hand still reached out, knuckles tight and shaking.

 

**A D R I E N,**

**Present**

There was a knock at his window.

 

 

**L A D Y B U G,**

**Present**

“Good evening, Mr. Agreste,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- okay confession, this was supposed to be a fluff chapter. im sorry.  
> -i actually had two drafts for this, one called "happiness" and the other called "ALTERNATIVE-DEATH"  
> \- you can guess which one i went with  
> \- thanks for reading! <3


	6. Don't Hurt My Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which Adrien and Ladybug talk. A lot.  
> but then Something Bad happens.  
> ((make of that what you will.))

Tikki once told Ladybug that Plagg had a habit of picking the same soul over and over as his host (which was why Ladybug was sure that the Chat Noir before was the Chat Noir now), and she remembered asking, _“Why don’t_ you _?”_

 

And Tikki had said, “Because knowing a new soul is an _adventure_.”

 

An adventure.

 

Being friends with Adrien Agreste was like that. At first you were only open to what was on the surface, the self he showed to the cameras and the public, but when you get past that, you would find a whole mess of things. Worlds of personality, a whirlpool of emotion, a kaleidoscope of hidden facets of humanity, and there were things underneath the underneath, and knowing Adrien more and more made you _see_ more and more. Knowing Adrien Agreste was a like a game, a puzzle, a maze, because he was a world in himself, made of infinite universes and endless possibilities.

 

Adrien Agreste, simply put, was an _adventure._

 

And every adventure made you at least _a bit_ nervous, right? What if she didn’t have everything ready? What if she lost her way? Ladybug just had to take the leap and pray that this particular decision won’t let her down like the last one.

 

She held her breath, heart hammering inside her chest, as she waited for the answer to her knock. Had she knocked loudly enough? Was he awake—oh God, did she wake him up? He needed rest, he needed to recover—because…

 

Because the last time he’d been injured like that, it had been one of Marinette’s most painful memories—and she got scraped and wounded every day of the week.

 

What happened was it had been in chemistry, and Marinette didn’t know _how_ it happened, exactly, but the chemical Nino and Adrien had been working on had exploded, sending glass shrapnel all over the place. Marinette had seen Adrien push Nino away, and then put out a hand as if to protect both of them. A shard nicked his hand, and when the chaos subsided and Nino and Adrien were rushed to the infirmary, Marinette and Alya had followed them. (“Excuse me, we have the right, we’re their _best friends_ , and one of them’s my _soulmate_ ,” Alya had hissed at the intern nurse that tried to keep them out. “We have _privilege._ GET OUT OF MY WAY, WOMAN!”)

 

Alya rushed to Nino first, of course, which left Marinette to run to where Adrien was sitting, just staring at his bleeding hand. He didn’t even hear her approach or call his name; he was just staring at all the blood on his palm with this wrecked look on his face, eyebrows knit together and eyes wide with fear, blank to all else but the red seeping through his pale skin. And when he finally snapped out of his daze, he’d smiled as if it was nothing to worry about, but Marinette never forgot the anguish on his face at the sight of so much blood, and the faraway look he’d held for a week after.

 

So tonight, after hours of fighting with herself and Tikki pushing at her, telling her it was fine and _Paris won’t even notice if you’re gone for a few minutes_ , she’d decided to check up on him. Just to be sure, just to see.

 

She almost slipped from the ledge she crouched on when Adrien’s curtains suddenly pulled back, almost ran away when his tinted windows rolled back to reveal—Adrien. _Adrien Agreste._

 

Ladybug’s breath caught in her throat as she met his eyes—wide in disbelief and bloodshot; _had he been crying?_ A sudden breeze sent strands of his golden hair skittering about his sweaty forehead, and Ladybug noticed the slight tremor in his shoulders. She was suddenly sure.

 

Coming tonight had not been a mistake. He really _did_ need help.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Agreste,” she said, voice dropped into a whisper, afraid to demolish the quiet stillness of the night.

 

In the moonlight, his hair shone to almost silver, and his lips were pale and trembling and open as he whispered back, “Ladybug. Uh, hi, hello. Come in.”

 

Ladybug swallowed painfully and nodded, slipping into his room when he stepped back to admit her. She landed soundlessly and took her time gazing around, admiring, as if this were the first time she was here. Which wasn’t even close.

 

“Nice room,” she said, keeping her back to him just in case the sight of his broken face would be too much. She needed to steel herself before she could look him in the eye.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and Ladybug grimaced at the stricken, fragmented way he said it. His voice was hoarse, scratchy. He really _had_ been crying. “I thought… It’s…”

 

“—hard to explain,” she finished, grazing her hand over the nape of her neck, feeling the sweat already starting to form there. She tried to focus on the shadow she casted, but found herself staring at how his shadow looked so small, so hunched over and stooped with exhaustion. “Chat and I found out about an akuma attack coming your way,” she said, the lie rolling off easily on her tongue; she’d practiced it all the way here, revising until she found a plausible enough explanation for why she dropped by that didn’t reveal that she just wanted to see him. “While Chat’s chasing down the akuma, he sent me here to protect you, just in case the akuma slips in or sends something after you and—Mr. Agreste?”

 

His shadow had stiffened and straightened at her words.

 

“Are you afraid?” she asked quietly.

 

“No,” he breathed. “Just surprised. And a bit confused…”

 

“You have a right to be. Surely no one has a reason to target _you_ , right? It must be just some jealous schmuck, don’t worry about it too much, Mr. Agreste.”

 

“Adrien,” he said, and his voice was strained. “Just… Just call me Adrien.”

 

Ladybug sucked in a breath, her chest feeling pressed down. “Adrien,” she repeated. She turned to him, smiling. “We’ve met before.”

 

He nodded, turned around to close his window, and then met her eyes. His gaze was electric. “You saved me a couple of times, and there isn’t a soul in Paris that doesn’t know _you_.” The light streaming from behind him turned him into barely more than a shadow, and his face became indiscernible.

 

She shook her head. “No, no, I meant… During—during one of Chl—Miss Bourgeois’s parties. She invited both of us, and we were properly introduced.” She laughed a little, trying to dispel the tension hanging over them. “You looked very… uncomfortable meeting me, Adrien.”

 

She couldn’t see him clearly, but she could tell Adrien’s eyes widened at the comment. “ _What?_ Oh—Oh God, that wasn’t because of you! I—I was—Chloe was…” He sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture he did when he was flustered and at a loss for words.

_(Answer: 2 minutes, 43 seconds.)_

 

She smiled, encouraging, and began walking around the room so she wouldn’t look as stiff as she felt. This was… This was new. And weird. This was an _adventure_.

 

“It was Chloe,” he said to her back as she wandered. “I never… I didn’t want to go, you see, but she was pushing at me to stay, and I guess—I guess I was out of funk that day. But it had nothing to do with you! You—You never seem to… _ugh_.” She could imagine him with a hand to his face, flushed red to the ears with embarrassment, and had to suppress a bubble of laughter.

 

Adrien Agreste was such a _delight_ to tease.

 

“It’s fine, I understand.” She spun around to see him again, her body cutting through the moonlight spilling in like it was a physical thing. “It just that my first impression of you was—Adrien, are you okay?”

 

He was clutching his side and grimacing, his face twisted in pain. With a strangled yelp, Ladybug rushed to him, mentally scolding herself for letting small talk go on for too long. She was here to check up on him, and nothing else.

 

She put his arms around her shoulders and snuck one arm around his waist, careful not to touch his wound, all the time saying, a bit breathlessly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what happened to you?”

 

“It’s…” He whimpered, and she felt his body shake at the pain it took to continue walking to his bed. His breath whistled through her cheeks, warm and rattling. “A wound, from—from practice. I’m fine, I’m fine— _God_.” He settled into his bed with a loud sigh of relief.

 

Ladybug stood above him, awkwardly wringing her hands together. “Well…”

 

He looked up at her.

 

She froze.

 

He smiled.

 

She melted.

 

“W—Will you be okay, at least?” she asked, flinching at the high pitch of her voice. “I—I mean when the akuma attacks, could you—?”

 

He laughed, low and cheery. (Answer: 4 seconds.) “I think so?”

 

She looked back to him and found his green eyes staring at her from the shadows. She swallowed painfully, her chest tightening, and sunk to her knees by his bed. His eyes followed her, curious and infinitely patient.

 

She crossed her arms on his bed and rested her chin on them, gazing up at him. “Why were you crying?”

 

The smile froze on his face, then started slowly melting. Like ice. Like her. He looked away, and that was the most disappointing thing, watching him look away when he looked at everyone else like they were the only thing in the room.

 

A silence engulfed them. The _tick tock tick tock_ of her internal clock was the only sound she heard besides his loud, burdened breathing.

 

She almost broke it, the suffocating quiet, but then he began, “I’m just tired,” and he looked at her again, and everything was alright.

 

“I don’t believe you,” she said—the words she could never say to him as Marinette.

 

He sighed. “And you shouldn’t.” She focused on his eyes, bright and unwavering. “I’m sorry. That was a lie. I’m…” He closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them again. “I’m more than tired. I’m so exhausted. All the time. I just want—”

 

The silence fell over them again. Ladybug, with all the courage she had, reached over to take one of his hands in hers. He looked at her fingers on his, wide-eyed.

 

“What do you want?” she asked, carefully. Quietly.

 

When he looked back at her again, his face was contorted in anguish, his eyes brimming with tears. He opened his mouth, struggled for words. His words were broken and pained. “I just want to meet my soulmate.”

 

Her eyes widened and she had to stop herself from jumping away in surprise. That was one of the least probable things he could have said. His _soulmate_? What about _Chloe_?

 

“I thought you’ve found her,” she said helplessly. “It’s Miss Bourgeois, isn’t it?” It wasn’t exactly a secret—they’d appeared on a bunch of magazines together, with Chloe being very vocal about their soulmate status.

 

“I don’t…” He closed his eyes again, squeezed them shut to her. “No, I don’t think so. And I trust you won’t judge me for it.”

 

“No. No, of course not.”

 

“It’s just that my soulmate, she…” His hand tightened around hers, and she was suddenly very aware of how hot his hand was and how _she was holding Adrien Agreste’s hand_. “She’s brave, and kind, and fierce. I don’t remember much of her, but I remember _that_ , and Chloe’s hardly any of those things. And I can’t help feeling… _lost._ ”

 

“I know the feeling,” she said.

 

He opened his mouth to answer, a furrow appearing on his brow for a split second, but fell quiet.

 

“I think…” She squeezed his hand. “Look, I don’t know you very well—” Which was a lie. “—but I can tell your heart is in the right place. Whoever your soulmate is, you’ll find her, and if you can’t, _she’ll_ find _you_.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but Ladybug said them as cheerfully and encouragingly as she could. “Only the unluckiest girl in the world could miss the chance to meet you.”

 

“Geez.” He laughed suddenly, the sweetest sound Ladybug had ever heard, and it took her back to the time when they first met, the abrupt, unexpected bout of laughter that had seized him in the rain. That had made her fall for him, head-first and unstoppable. “You’re making me wish _you_ were my soulmate.”

 

Blood crept up to her cheeks. How unfair it was that Adrien Agreste could demolish her in one move. “You’re joking.”

 

His voice took on a serious note. “No,” he said. “Not really.”

 

“Mr. Agreste—”

 

“Adrien.”

 

“Adrien.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself composed even when she wanted to combust, right then and there. “It’s just the pain talking.”

 

He squeezed her hand and she looked up at him. His eyes had become dimmer, darker, more hooded; it was clear he was getting tired. “I don’t want to sleep,” he said. Then, voice dropping to whisper the secret of secrets, “I have nightmares.”

 

Ladybug’s mouth went dry. “I do, too. What’s yours about?”

 

“My soul’s last memory.”  


“What a coincidence.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Mine, too.”

 

He shivered, cold. “Care to elaborate?”

 

She shook her head, saying nothing. He nodded and backed off. How very Adrien it was, to put your opinions over his every time.

 

“Would _you_?” She leaned forwards, to meet his eyes better. “If you’re fine with it.”

 

The smile he gave her was pained. “It’s an awful memory.”

 

“I think I can handle it, if you think it can help.”

 

He nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “Okay.” Settling deeper into his pillows, he began. “My last soul was a soldier.”  


“In the second or first?”  


“Second.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And, I died—and my soulmate held me as I did, and now every time I have a serious injury, I’m thrown into that last memory… and I—I…” And here it was, what had caused both of them pain; him for feeling it, and her for having to watch him suffer. “I feel _everything_.”  


_“What? WHAT?”_ She forgot to keep her voice down. She forgot _everything_. For a moment, Ladybug couldn’t believe what she heard. Then the full gravity of the facts crushed her under their weight, smashing her into the ground, breaking bones and squeezing her heart. “Oh my _God_ , that’s _horrifying_.”

 

She couldn’t even begin to think about what that meant; reliving the moment that killed you, feeling the pain of it, all the while knowing that the love of your soul watched as the life went out of your eyes. The _anguish_ , the _torment_ of that one memory, again and again, for nights on end…

 

And Adrien just smiled at her with that painful gaze of his, with those bloodshot eyes that she could now understand.

 

“Have you told anyone?” she asked hurriedly, because _she_ sure as hell hadn’t known.

 

“It’s my problem.”

 

“ _Yes,_ but your family—your friends deserve to know what’s going on.”

 

“They have their own lives to worry about.”

 

“But _you’re_ part of their lives.” Ladybug took in a deep breath, trying to quell the rage beating against her chest. Damn souls. Damn the past. Damn _everything_ that hurt Adrien so much that he woke up crying in the middle of the night. “They care about you. They deserve to know. They would _want_ to know.”

 

Adrien pursed his lips. “What about you?”

 

Ladybug blinked rapidly in surprise. “ _Huh_?”

 

He was bunching up his covers in his free hand and chewing on his lip like he was trying to keep words to him. He failed. And the words came in a sweeping rush.

 

“Even with the whole heroine thing, you’re still just a teenager under all of it; you must have school, and family and friends that worry about you.” He took in a rattling breath. “Don’t _they_ deserve to know? How this double life drains you?”

 

Ladybug stared. She couldn’t help it. Staring was her go-to when it came to Adrien; almost everything he did enchanted her, his passion most so. She tried to say something, _anything_ , but all that came out was a stunned yelp and the first thing she came up with was, “It doesn’t drain me,” which was a lie.

 

“Oh, come on.” He gave her hand a tight squeeze, the hold of a man afraid to be left alone. (Not like she would even think of leaving him in this state.) His voice was softer suddenly. “Please don’t lie…”

 

“I could never lie to you.”

 

A wave of confusion passed over his face but it was gone again in an instant.

 

“I don’t do it alone,” she continued, praying to every deity there ever was that she didn’t mess up, not now. “I have Chat Noir, after all.”

 

“But where is he most of the time?” His eyes flickered with contempt. “Hostaged or out of commission.”

 

A sudden rage erupted out of Ladybug at that; an intense need to defend _Chat_ from _Adrien_ —something she’d never thought of before. “Chat’s my _friend_ ,” she said fiercely, forgetting for a moment who she was saying it to, just knowing that Chat was the good to her bad, the Undeserving of all her drama. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

 

“But—”

 

“I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for Chat Noir.”

 

“He never really does anything…”

 

“He does _everything!_ ” She took a deep breath to calm herself before continuing, “He’s everything to me. I owe him more than you can even comprehend.”

 

And there was that long silence again, when all they could do was stare at each other, the previous words echoing in the dead air. The silence stretched, and stretched, and stretched, and then like a band, it snapped back—forceful and loud.

 

“I just need to get something out of my system,” Adrien whispered. “If I can?”

 

All she could do was, numbly, nod.

 

 

 

**M I R A C U L O U S  P R O G R A M**

**P R E S I D E N T**

 

 

“Of all the places…” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, as she looked down on the sprawling mansion below her. The whir of the helicopter was loud and roaring, but the two people inside the room she could see into didn’t seem to hear. They were too invested in their talk of whatever it was young, hopeless lovers talked about in the middle of the night. “And of _all the people_.”

 

“Ma’am.” Averic grabbed her arm, making her turn to him. “The troops are ready on the ground. Awaiting further instructions.”

 

“Thank you, Averic.” She sighed, her chest loosening. “This farce has gone on long enough. Did those two think they’d get away with this little _rebellion_ of theirs? Send them in, tell them to get Ladybug.”

 

“Chat Noir isn’t at the premises,” Averic reported. “The rogue kwami is still—”

 

“He’ll come,” she insisted. She knew those kwami well, and their hosts were easy enough to understand. They were just children, after all. “The suits have a built-in alarm that will send a message to their partner if it detects high levels of the chemicals involved in fear and panic. The GPS will do all the work then.”

 

“Of course, ma’am.” Averic saluted, ever the dutiful Program soldier. “All set to go?”

 

She pursed her lips, then gazed down on the room again, the curtains drawn to the world to show Paris’ heroine and—and Adrien Agreste lying wounded on his bed…

 

She cursed the old man for being so difficult. She wouldn’t have to do any of this if he’d just told her the devil kwami’s new host, or if the more sensible one had returned. But _no_ , and she was here, about to send a platoon into Agreste Manor.

 

“Get Ladybug.” The order clawed through her throat.

 

Averic turned to the radios.

 

“Oh, and Averic?”

 

Averic paused. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“I have a message for your units. Tell them that whatever happens, even if he’s a hindrance or a threat, whatever they do…”

 

“Yes, ma’am?”

 

“ _Do not hurt my son._ ”

 

A hint of a smile appeared on Averic’s creased face. “Of course, Madame Aline.”

 

And he turned back to get the mission underway, leaving Aline Agreste to look down at the havoc that would be caused on her former home.

 

 

 

**A D R I E N**

He couldn’t stop babbling.

 

He _knew_ he was talking too much, _far too much,_ but his mouth seemed to have a will of its own. And so did his _head_ , apparently, because he was leaning forward, towards her, _her_ —and maybe that was why he was so out of it. Not because of the nightmarish memory that shook him to his very core, but because _Ladybug_ was _in his room_ and it was _night_ and _holy crap, she’s amazing_.

 

“… and its unfair, you know, because you and Chat don’t actually receive anything from this,” he said, his voice rising in his excitement to finally say the things he couldn’t say as Chat, in fear of getting called whiny. (Ladybug would _never_ , he knew, but there was always a nagging voice inside him that always made the words stick in his throat when he wanted to say them.) “And you give, and you give, and what do you get out of it?”

 

Her mouth was hanging open, and Adrien had the sudden, frightening urge to damn everything and kiss her right then, but words were still stumbling from his mouth like a raging river held back for too long.

 

“Paris needs you, I get that, but don’t _you_ need something, too? Rest? A normal life? Somebody to know how hard you’re really working?”

 

“Adrien…”

 

“And there are people who don’t deserve your protection, too, and I know that’s an awful thing to say but…”

 

“ _Adrien._ ”

 

They were so close now. _Too close._ He could see his reflection in her eyes, could see the deranged madness in his own looking back at him. He could feel her uneasy breathing on his throat.

 

He snapped back, on fire. “Oh, _God_.” His pulse was pounding loud enough to echo through his veins. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry, it’s not of my business to…”

 

He trailed off when he saw her face. It was… open. Raw with emotion; her cheeks were red, her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open. The hand that held his was clammy, and her thumb was unconsciously drawing circles over the back of his hand.

 

She looked enchanted. Which appalled him, somewhat. It seemed like such a familiar face… Adrien’s heart gave a startled jolt, and he seemed more awake, more _aware_ of everything in that moment.

 

He saw her swallow, the smooth movement of her throat. He saw moonlight glisten off her sweat, saw her lips tremble as she struggled on what to say. Adrien scrambled for anything to say, just to snap her out of her daze.

 

Ladybug was energy and restlessness and action; he wasn’t used to seeing her so still.

 

If he were to be completely honest, though, the reason why he felt like he was on fire in that moment was because a) his wound had sent a feverish zeal into his system, but more than that b) she was beautiful.

 

He’d always known that, but in that moment, with both of them looking into each other like there was nothing—not even air—between them… He was suddenly more in love with her, which he thought was impossible.

 

The silence stretched to its breaking point, and his mind finally caught on one sentence. “I’m sorry.”

 

It was all he could say.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “but I just wanted you to know.”

 

“Adrien.”

 

“I guess I got carried away…”

 

“Adrien.”

 

“I really am sorry, I have no right…”

 

“No, _no_.” Her voice was unsteady, unsure. Her eyes darted away from him, then back again, then away again. She was chewing on her lower lip like she wanted to gnaw it off completely. “Actually, Adrien, there’s something I need to tell you…”

 

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?”

 

She opened her mouth, began forming words.

 

“There’s no—”

 

And then glass shattered.

 

Both of them screamed, and Ladybug snatched her hand away and got into her fighting position, one arm thrust in between him and—

 

_So many. Too many._

 

There were at least ten people surging into his room through his broken window, all dressed in black. Adrien’s mind frizzled to a stop; he’d thought the akuma thing was some sort of an excuse for God knows what, but this—

 

He heard Ladybug curse.

 

“ _Plagg_ ,” he hissed, reaching for the cabinet drawer where his kwami hid, secret identities be damned.

 

“Ladybug,” said one of the intruders. They had completely encircled the bed now, guns drawn and pointed straight at her.

 

“No, _no_!” Adrien pushed himself up, but Ladybug was speaking already, her voice carrying through the room.

 

“What do you want?” she asked of all of them.

 

“We want _you_.” One of them stepped forward, gun still trained on her. “By the issue of the Miraculous Program, you will come with us. By force, if need be.”

 

“Like hell!” screamed Adrien.

 

“Why?” asked Ladybug.

 

The man seemed to turn to Adrien as he said, “Confidential.”

 

 _Miraculous Program?_ Adrien struggled for an explanation. Where had he heard that before…?

 

 _“Ladybug, no!”_ a disembodied voice—Tikki, Ladybug’s kwami—screamed along. _“You can’t go with them! The Program has no right to call you back!_ ”

 

“Technically, you’re still part of it, Miss Tikki,” said the man.

 

 _“What?_ ” Ladybug was as confused as Adrien was.

 

 _“You can’t take her!”_ said Tikki. _“Never again!”_

 

“Again?”

 

Adrien had no time to think; he grabbed the sconce behind him, ripped it off the wall, and threw it at the nearest invader. The sconce shattered on the man’s head, eliciting a scream. “ _Run!_ ” he said, lifting himself up. “I’ll hold them off!”

 

“Adrien, _stop!_ ” Ladybug cried.

 

It was too late. One of the intruders near Adrien seized him and pulled him away from Ladybug’s reaching hands. Her fingers caught empty air, and her curses streamed through the night as quickly as Adrien’s tirade had.

 

Heart hammering, Adrien struggled to free himself. But the person was too strong, and his wound had sprung open again. A rush of blood to his brain crippled him, his nerves screaming. Pain blinded him, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was Ladybug’s screaming.

 

And her damning words. “Let him go. I’ll come with you, just _please_ let him go.”

 

When he woke up, dazed and delirious and screaming for her, an hour or so later, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -the chapter title is basically how I generally feel about Adrien Agreste.  
> -also SUPER LATE UPLOAD because it was practically Exam Month Hell at my school and I needed to study 24/7  
> -im so sorry for that  
> -but i DO have school, too, y'know...  
> -thanks for reading, as always xoxo  
> -I owe you more than you can even comprehend ;))


	7. Dearest Ladybug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which the aftermath of the Program attack makes itself apparent

“Adrien, you’re going to _kill yourself_!” Plagg hissed, a dark dot zipping around Adrien, tugging at his fingers, pushing against his chest helplessly, futilely.

 

Adrien ignored him, pushing against his kwami, pushing against the pain in his side, as he made his way through his room to the box he hid under his desk. He crouched to reach for it, biting back a cry of pain as his wound sang with exertion. Plagg was in his hair, pulling at the strands and shouting.

 

“ _Adrien, stop!_ ” Plagg pleaded.

 

 _Oh, God,_ thought Adrien, swallowing thickly against the rising tide of emotion inside him, _please don’t plead with me again, Plagg—I don’t want to fail you. Not again._

“Your wound’s not fully healed, look at yourself! You look like a corpse already!”

 

“I know what corpses look like, Plagg,” Adrien said bitterly, and the kwami fell silent.

 

Adrien stood up, brushing dust away from the top of the box. He hadn’t needed to open this in a while.

 

But Ladybug. It was for Ladybug.

 

He would do anything and everything for her. He knew it was hardly healthy, but it was the barest of truths—she was someone who _deserved_ anything and everything. He might not be her soulmate, that much he had accepted, but it wouldn’t stop him from wrecking himself for her—because he was just that: a disaster, a calamity, and it was all he could do for her.

 

His mind was still racing, his heart still beating furiously. How could he have been so _stupid_? He knew how selfless she was, he should’ve known he would be an easy target for a bargaining chip against her. And still he had tried, uselessly, to help and now she was kidnapped—because of him. It was _always_ going to be because of him, wasn’t it?

 

He put the box on top of the desk and removed its top, carefully. He could feel Plagg buzzing with contempt at what was inside.

 

A mess of photos, mostly—of Adrien and his mother, photos forbidden by his father—and there were other miscellaneous things, too: his mother’s wedding ring, a blue brooch his mother used to wear, his mother’s old phone, the small leather-bound notebook his mother used to write poems in. Gabriel Agreste had told Nathalie to throw away all these things when Aline had left—and she had, but she had told Adrien of it first, a head’s-up.

 

She couldn’t have thought that he’d actually spend weeks digging them out of the dump. Every night, he snuck out and dug through dirt and trash to find his mother’s old things until he was sweating and panting and near to passing out—he stopped either when the sun rose or when Plagg yelled at him to. By the end of the night, his nails were caked with dirt and blood. When his father asked about the cuts on his hands and the tired pallor of his face, he’d only smiled and said, “I’m surprised you care enough to notice,” which effectively shut him up.

 

However, the thing that caught Plagg’s eyes wasn’t the small shrine for Aline Agreste—it was the plastic box of pills sitting beside a picture of Gabriel and Aline (youthful and happy, as Adrien had never seen them.)

 

“I should never have given you that,” Plagg murmured resentfully.

 

“Plagg, it’s necessary.”

 

“They’ll knock you out for days after!”

 

“But it’ll stop the pain! I can save Ladybug using these.”

 

“Why do you have to be so _stubborn_?” Plagg yelled.

 

“It’s Ladybug we’re talking about!”

 

“You’d cut off your own arm if she asked you to,” Plagg snapped. “But it doesn’t mean you should.”

 

Adrien pursed his lips. “I need to do this,” he said with renewed resolution. “I can’t leave her alone. She’s my partner. She needs my help.”

 

“Those are Program-issued pills, Ad—”

 

“ _Program_?” Adrien rounded on Plagg, aghast. “Do you know something about the people who took Ladybug?”

 

Plagg blinked in surprise, both at Adrien’s ferocity and the realization that he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Adrien bit back a scream of frustration; everyone in his life was _lying_ to him—who could he trust after this?

 

Plagg opened his mouth to answer. “The Miraculous Program is—well, it’s not exactly my—it’s hard to explain, Adrien.”

 

Adrien glared. Plagg recoiled. Adrien had never glared at him before.

 

Plagg began again, his voice dripping with apprehension. “Listen, if I tell you what the Program is about, there’s no escape for you.”

 

“They took my Lady,” he said. “I wouldn’t _want_ to escape, not without her.”

 

Plagg nodded, understanding but weary—a bones-deep weariness that Adrien suspected had been there for a long, long time. “Sit down, Adrien,” he said softly. “It’s a long story.”

 

“But Ladybug—” _could be dying, could be tortured._

“—can wait. I doubt they’ll do anything drastic to her without Chat Noir; the Program needs Tikki _and_ me.”

 

“ _You and Tikki?_ ”

 

“I’m sorry you kids have to get caught up in this mess.” Plagg flew up to meet Adrien’s eyes, to show him he was serious. “We failed. We tried to protect you, to protect the future Ladybugs and Chat Noirs, and it blew up in our faces.”

 

“Plagg—”

 

“Sit down,” Plagg repeated firmly. “It’s time I tell you the things I had to do to keep you safe—and I can only hope you won’t hate me for it after.”

 

**L A D Y B U G**

“The President will _kill_ you _,_ Thomas!”

 

“I—I’m really sorry, sir! I didn’t know he was so _fragile_ … I didn’t think…”

 

“Well, you should have! The President’s orders were clear and strict. Nothing should have happened to her son.”

 

 _Her son?_ Groggy and defeated, Ladybug curled on the floor of wherever the “Miraculous Program” goons had taken her, listening intently to the muffled conversation from across the room—cheek pressed against the cool metal floor, eyes closed, wrists bound up behind her.

 

When she’d surrendered to them, an hour ago, desperate to get Adrien to safety, she’d expected them to drug her or something. Instead, they’d just cuffed her, blindfolded her and dragged her away—like she wasn’t even a threat. With Adrien’s life on the life, she supposed she really wasn’t.

 

When Adrien, brave, selfless, _stupid_ Adrien, had been grabbed by that infernal bastard, her heart had exploded in her chest, its debris severing every nerve required for proper thinking. She’d screamed the first thing that came into her head— _I’ll come with you, just_ please _let him go_ —and damned everything else.

 

They’d taken her away from the house, away and away. She’d heard men’s voices screaming above the whir of a helicopter, felt herself being dragged up into the air, and then a woman’s voice, clear as water and smoother than silk.

 

 _“I apologize for the inconvenience, my Lady,”_ the voice had said, an echo of someone else’s striking a nerve in Ladybug. _“And I suppose, hello to you again, Tikki.”_

 

Tikki had remained quiet, unnervingly quiet, the entire way to wherever this was. Tikki’s words were ringing around Ladybug’s mind, secrets being slowly unravelled, but not quite. Words like _again_ and _Program_ and—it really kept going back to this— _again._

 

What did she mean by _again_? Had Tikki been involved with this before? She’d tried asking, many times, along the way, and still silence. That unnerving wall of hush that made Ladybug feel more alone than she already was. No Tikki, no _yoyo_. (The conniving little jerks had taken that away from her, too.)

 

She was on her own.

 

She listened intently through the fog of exhaustion and bone-deep grief to the faint words spoken back and forth by her captors. It was all she could do. She couldn’t move, she was too tired to form words, and even with the blindfold removed, she didn’t even want to open her eyes, in fear of what she might see; the least she could do was to gather anything on this “Program” until Chat got here— _oh._

 

Chat was injured. He’d be the most thoughtless moron in the world if he was going to rescue her in his state—so where did that leave her?

 

Beaten down, chained, but listening. There was that, at the very least.

 

“—I had thought the plague-bringer would be here by now,” said the older, rougher voice. British and gruff. “The info we had suggested they have a close relationship. He would rush to her aid at once, I had assumed.”

 

Plague-bringer. _Chat. Plagg._ Ladybug let out a rattling breath. What she wouldn’t give to have both of them by her side and Tikki’s right now.

 

“W-What should I tell the Madame?” asked the younger, more nervous voice. _Thomas_ , he’d been called. “About… About her son?”

 

Which son? Who were they talking about? An injured son… Ladybug could use that against this Madame of theirs, use it as leverage, however small it was.

 

“Tell her it was an accident, as you told me. I doubt she’d hear your bumbling reasoning, but at the very least, it would stay her hand from ordering you to the cells.”

 

 _Cells_? They had _cells_? Fear gripped Ladybug’s heart, pulling it down to the pit of her stomach. She wanted to puke, to cry, to do anything to ease the dread that was breathing down her neck and running knifepoints over her spine.

 

“Go call her,” said the older voice. “Her meeting with the vice-president should be over by now; she’d want to meet the girl.”

 

“But sir—”

 

“ _Go_ ,” he snapped back. “We can face her wrath properly later.”

 

There was a taut silence. “Yes, sir.”

 

The sound of footsteps on metal, fading away, then the hiss of a door sliding open, the hiss of it slamming back closed. A sigh. A near-silent squeak from Ladybug as she held her breath and waited.

 

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, I know you’re awake,” said the old man, his voice faint.

 

Ladybug’s voice was hoarse and broken as she asked, “Who are you?”

 

“I am the Secretary of the Miraculous Program—Secretary Averic Ackermann.”

 

“Why am I here?”

 

“All in good time, my Lady.”

 

Ladybug hissed as she turned herself over to glare at him. The man standing a few paces away from her was surrounded by blinking, cold machinery that Ladybug couldn’t really process the use for. The entire room was white-walled; she had to shut her eyes for a moment at the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

 

Averic Ackermann was a tall, wiry man in a black tuxedo. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with grey in his slicked-back, slightly-receding brown hair. His face had a tired swipe through it, like it had been ironed out but with the opposite result—wrinkly, creased—but the way he carried himself made him look regal and younger. His eyes were a soft, caramel colour.

 

Eyes you could trust. Deceptive.

 

“Don’t,” she growled, “call me that.”

 

Averic raised a careful brow. “Oh? I had thought that was the nickname you preferred; that’s what your sweet kitty cat called you, if I am not mistaken.”

 

Ladybug froze, wide-eyed, and stared up at him with utter disbelief. “How – How do you know—?”

 

“Oh, we’ve been trailing you for days now,” said Averic mildly. “It wasn’t easy tracking you down after the adrenaline of your noble, if unguided, battles against the Parisian Brigade, and the old man wasn’t doing us any favours, either—misleading us, let us second-guess your position… But we found you, and we’ve been planning to take you for _decades_.”

 

She had to swallow down her fury. They’d been _spying_ on her? On _Chat_? “What do you _want_ from me?” she demanded, her pitch rising with emotion. “Just let me go! I don’t know anything about this Program—”

 

“Exactly.” Averic’s smile was as deceivingly kind as his eyes. “That’s the problem, my girl. Your kwami never told you about us, and that’s where the blunder lays.”

 

Tikki _?_ Ladybug looked down at her suit as if she could see Tikki hiding beneath her spots, but the kwami was silent. She closed her eyes briefly, exhausted, and then turned back to Averic.

 

“If you’d only come back to the Program sooner, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” Averic continued, and Ladybug had a feeling he wasn’t talking to _her_ anymore. “You could’ve saved these children—”

 

 _“Which is exactly why I stayed away.”_ Tikki’s disembodied voice was sharp and the cruellest Ladybug had ever heard it. There was a cold, frightening tone in her words that made Ladybug flinch.

“So she _does_ speak, after all.” And now Averic’s deception was peeling away—a maniacal glint came over his eyes and his mouth tilted almost imperceptivity from a smile to a gruesome smirk made for war.

 

Ladybug shuddered at how _familiar_ it seemed.

 

 _“Let Ladybug go, Averic,”_ Tikki ordered. _“It’s me you want.”_

Averic tsked. “No can do, little red kwami. The Madame saw great potential in your picks. It would be a waste and a bother, if we were to let her go. Besides, you’ve escaped from the Program for way too long.”

 

 _“You’re as bad as the Brigade!”_ Tikki hissed. _“You know as well as I do why I left! I had thought you would change after, but you’re still the same,_ Johnson.”

 

“Petty thing, that man is dead.” Averic’s smile was hauntingly still. “I _have_ changed; I have learned so much from my previous soul’s memory, even if it was about the pathetic idea of a _soulmate_ —enough to know that I can never let you get to me again.” He turned on his heels, his back to Ladybug.

 

Ladybug almost called out to him— _Come back here and fight me!_ almost clawed through her throat—but at that moment, the doors hissed open again, and the sound of boots against the metal floor echoed through Ladybug’s skull.

 

“Madame President,” she heard Averic greet someone she couldn’t yet see.

 

 _“Marinette,”_ Tikki hissed desperately, low enough that Ladybug struggled to catch her fast words. _“I am so sorry—Tell them nothing, do you understand? We have to get out of here—No bargains, never let them tie you to their agenda—Please—”_

“Well met, dearest Ladybug.” The voice was familiar—it was the voice that spoke to her on the helicopter, the silky, serene voice that called her _my Lady_ —but it was more than that, somehow _._ The voice was eerily familiar.

 

Ladybug’s breathing hitched in her throat. Questions raced through her head, all at once, a million of them, a flurry of _who, why, where, how_. The sound of boots came closer, and closer, until Ladybug was staring at blue-green stiletto boots, a faint mark visible at the sides, a logo of some sort.

 

Blood hammering inside her chest and ears and hands, she looked further up.

 

At the smiling woman who towered over her.

 

At that familiar, familiar face that she would recognize in any world, in any universe, in any life.

 

She’d seen it only once before, but the features she saw almost every day, turning to look at her with honest joy, lighting up at the sound of her voice, eyebrows rising, mouth opening to form her name, all the curves and edges of a face she’d longed to trace since forever. It was the features of the boy she loved, her greatest guilt, the features she had long since committed to memory. She would know who this woman was just by her cheekbones. She would know because it was Adrien Agreste’s mother.

 

_It was Aline._

 

 

**P L A G G**

“The Miraculous Program has been around ever since humans knew how to war with each other—which is since the dawn of time, probably. It has been called many things over time; it wasn’t until recently that the term _Miraculous Program_ stuck. It is a group run by individuals working toward the common goal of world peace and unity through the use of advanced, highly-modified technology used upon volunteers to transform them into what you may call _superheroes_.

 

They created us, the _kwamis_ , and allowed us to choose souls who we thought were brave and selfless enough to protect cities all over the world. As you know, I always chose you, because you are the bravest and most selfless soul I have ever had the luck to know.

 

But it didn’t take long for the kwamis to go rogue, as all AI do in time. Some fled, some chose the road of evil and worked against the very cause they were made for, and some were taken by force by those who knew the gravity of the power they held.

 

An example of this is our greatest threat, the Hawkmoth Brigade, a team of people who capture kwamis and use them for their own selfish gains and to capture more of them until the Program is left without soldiers to oppose them—as you know, one of these Hawkmoths was the one who killed you before.

 

There are _countless_ of us, Adrien—there are seven in this city alone, including the one that the Brigade has taken, and… and the ones who have deviated from the Program entirely, remaining under the radar.

 

Tikki and I are two of such.

 

After you—you _died_ , Adrien, just like that, in utter agony until your last breath… I couldn’t take it anymore. I went out of my mind and told the Program they had no right to me, or to your soul, anymore, and told them to do something anatomically impossible, but in my anger I didn’t care—I left, and didn’t look back.

 

I didn’t hear anything from the Program until two years later, when I found Tikki wandering around. That was when I found out that she’d left the Program, too; she didn’t tell me what happened, to her or to Ladybug but I assumed she was dead, and I loved Tikki enough to leave her alone, but I knew she’d basically done the same thing I did.

 

We’d had enough of the Program forcing _kids_ to fight their battles, no matter if it was for the world.

 

So we made a pact never to go back to them.

 

But we still found you and whoever the Ladybug now is, and we chose you because—well, because the Brigade had made their presence known in Paris, and we couldn’t stand by no matter what we told ourselves. But we chose _you_ because you were willing, because you would have suffered longer if you couldn’t do anything for your city. We knew you and Ladybug were more than eager to defend this city you love with all your hearts.

 

Our ties to the Program were finished, however. We didn’t report to them who you were, because they had no right to your personal lives as they had to the Chat Noirs and Ladybugs and other heroes, before. We didn’t contact them, didn’t pledge our loyalty to them, and that probably made the current President pissy—that soul is feisty. I don’t know her in this century, but I knew her as she was when she let you go out to a war and didn’t blink an eye when I told her you were dead.

 

And if I hadn’t been so hot-headed back then, _mon frère_ , they wouldn’t be after you now. They wouldn’t be targeting you and your lady. In fact, if I’d kept a lower profile—if I hadn’t been so drunk on patriotism— _Jesus Christ,_ Adrien, I need you to understand that everything that has ever gone wrong in your life is partly because of _me._

 

I’m sorry. Do you understand? _I am so sorry._ ”

 

**A D R I E N**

“Plagg, don’t be sorry. Never be sorry again.”

 

“I’m _sorry._ ”

 

“Plagg, _please_.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Plagg…”

 

“Always know this, Adrien Agreste, I will forever be sorry for the things I have put your precious soul through.”

 

“As long as you always know this, Plagg—I will forever be grateful for the things you have given me the chance to know.”

 

“My story with the Program is ended; it’s your choice what to do next. You will always have a choice with me, friend.”

 

“Let’s continue it, then.”

 

**L A D Y B U G**

“Hello there, little girl.”

 

“You—You’re—” _(Answer: 10 seconds.)_

 

“I am Aline, the current President of the Miraculous Program. I really hope you’re comfortable. It seems it will be a long wait for your other half.”

 

 

**A D R I E N**

“You’re still going to go through with this?”

 

“I have to.”

 

“You do realize that by doing this you make my and Tikki’s hard-fought task on keeping you away from that sick Program futile, and that you’re playing right into its trap?”

 

“Very clearly.”

 

“Well, I can’t stop you. Then again, I never have been able to. Come on, Chat Noir, your lady’s waiting for you.”

 

**L A D Y B U G**

“Oh, please do stop swearing over there. I know patience has never been a virtue of your kind, but less squirming and less cursing can certainly improve the mood.”

 

“You—You made them _attack_ Adrien!”

 

“I know.”

 

“That’s all you have to say?”

 

“That’s all there _is_ to say.”

 

“You disgust me.”

 

“I know.”

 

**C H A T N O I R**

The screen embedded into Chat’s baton glared up at him through the dark of the early morning. It was pulsing—the red-and-black dot he’d been tracking like mad blinked up at him like an accusation. _Why did it take you so long_?

 

The pain in his side had disappeared almost instantly after he took the “Program-issued” pills, but already a headache was beginning to pound through his skull—or maybe that was just the adrenaline. His breaths were coming out steady, so that was a good sign, but he’d like to get this over and done with. In and out, just get Ladybug _away_.

 

“You ready, champ?” Plagg asked quietly.

 

Chat Noir nodded. And stared up at the Eiffel Tower, the glowing attraction of the city he’d sworn to protect, its beauty a mere diversion to hide a dark secret: below it, miles below, was the secret lab of the Miraculous Program, where Ladybug was being kept. The place Tikki and Plagg had tried to keep Chat and Ladybug away from for a century.

 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

**L A D Y B U G**

_No. No, no, no, no, no…_

There was just this. There was just _no_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- MORE PLOT  
> \- MORE MAMA AGRESTE  
> \- I DEVIATE FROM CANON SO MUCH IT HURTS MY HEAD  
> \- also, if there are typos and contradictions, IM SORRY  
> \- between general after-exams craziness and planning what the hell i'm going to do this summer, i didn't have the time to edit ;-;  
> \- as always, love ya guys, thank you SO MUCH, SO SO MUCH for reading. you're basically the eye of my hurricane (this is the only way I can protect my LEGACYYYY) .... hamilton, anyone?


	8. A Stranger's Familiar Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which Chat finds the girl he was looking for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/8/16 - minor typos changed

Ladybug felt sick to her stomach, like somebody had repeatedly beaten her with a bat after forcing poison down her throat. She knew that if she looked at Aline— _Aline!_ —for too long, she’d pass out from the exhaustion of trying to understand, of trying to put together the _why_ s and the _how_ s.

 

When Adrien was thirteen, two years before he and Marinette met, his mother had cheated on his father; heartbroken and furious, Gabriel Agreste had ordered her away and had purged her existence out of their house. Portraits burned, bedroom refurnished top-to-bottom, old clothes ripped apart, belongings and jewellery sent to the dump until Adrien had clawed through filth and garbage for them. To Gabriel, she had never existed. She had all but died.

 

But to Adrien, his mother was as alive as the air, constant and painful at times. She still remembered how close to tears he was when he showed Nino, Alya and her the box where he had put what was left of his mother’s things into, how his voice had broken when he talked about her, how his fingers had shaken when he brought out her pictures. The thought that his mother had torn their family apart had shattered him, and the fact that she never once tried to contact him afterwards—it was like a slap in the face, every time Adrien looked at his own face and saw her in it.

 

And now. _How was she here?_ Here. Aline Agreste, the subject of Adrien’s hurt and pain, _here_. Dressed in a blue, long-sleeved dress, hair pinned up primly, boots pristine, face calm as she talked quietly with Averic and Thomas, who had followed her in looking like a kicked puppy. _Here_. Holding Ladybug captive and luring Chat into her traps?

 

And she was the _President_ of this Program? She knew about the Miraculous—about _everything_. Aline looked so out of place in this white room, like a peacock in a chicken pen. In fact, Aline looked out of place in Ladybug’s very thoughts. With all this nonsense about programs and tracking and past lives, for Aline Agreste to be present at all was damn near impossible, but there she was, in contrast and bold; the red strings led to her.

 

When Averic and Aline’s eyes shifted towards her, Ladybug growled, baring her teeth like some kind of feral animal. Well, they already had her chained up—she supposed she could play the part, at least.

 

Aline’s smile was sharp. Adrien’s smiles were never like that, even when he was angry or anguished. His smiles had always been pure and hopeful. “Are you comfortable down there, my Lady?” she purred.

 

“Don’t—”

 

“—‘call me that’?” Aline finished for her. “Oh, Averic told me all about your little _issue_ with that nickname. Why, though? It’s what Chat Noir calls you... _Oh_.” She feigned surprise, eyes widening with mischief. “Is he your _lover_? The heroes of Paris, in love—well, it’s nothing I haven’t heard of before.”

 

Ladybug flushed down to her toes. She fidgeted on the floor, trying not to show her discomfort to this woman who she knew could use anything against her. “He’s not my soulmate, if that’s what you’re suggesting—”

 

“Oh, soulmates and lovers don’t have to be the same thing, sweetheart.”

 

“I suppose you _are_ an expert on that,” Ladybug snapped before she could stop herself.

 

Aline’s eyes— _Adrien_ ’ _s eyes, those are_ Adrien’s _eyes_ —narrowed. “So Adrien told you about me?” she asked. Ladybug wondered if the hurt in her voice was an act, too. “I didn’t think you were _that_ close. I thought…” She shook her head, her blonde hair catching the light of the room and sparkling. Like stars. Like Adrien’s hair in the moonlight. Like Chat’s. “Well, no matter what I think. It’s not like you can talk to him about this.”

 

Ladybug’s eyes widened; fear pounded through her ears. “Are you going to _kill_ me?”

 

“Oh, goodness, _no_. But I will forbid you from seeing him again. It puts him in a position I would rather not have him in.” Aline’s laughter was an echo of her son’s; Ladybug flinched to hear it echo in this cold, loveless room. “When your partner arrives, we’re just going to have a little _chat_ , that’s all.”

 

Ladybug’s grin was bitter. “He’s injured. In his state, I doubt he can even take two steps without keeling over. He won’t come.”

 

“You underestimate his love for you, my Lady.” Aline turned her back on Ladybug and made her way over to the door, followed by the faint _click, click_ of her boots. “That boy will walk through a mile of burning coals for you, if you ask him to. Averic, Thomas, I’ll leave her in your care. I will be in my office. If Chat Noir arrives, or any new developments arise, send for me at once. It was nice meeting you, Miss Ladybug. And I say, Tikki, you’ve chosen quite a feisty one.” The doors closed behind her, and Adrien’s mother was gone.

 

Ladybug felt a weight ease from her chest, like looking at Aline had been a task in itself. Tikki remained silent. She hadn’t spoken in Aline’s presence, like she was in defiance of her existence, but Ladybug wished she would. She needed someone to talk to about… about _this_. About the Program. About Aline.

 

There was throbbing in the back of her mind and when she closed her eyes, she saw Chat’s own gazing back at her, sparkling in the moonlight as he said, _“I’ll always protect you, my Lady.”_

 

That night, she had said, _“I can protect myself, thank you very much,”_ but the gesture wasn’t lost on her. _That boy will walk through a mile of burning coals for you._ Selfless, selfless Chat, who never failed to put everyone else first, who put himself in between her and danger every chance he got, who died in her arms years ago. Who, now that she thought about it and let herself consider it, _would_ be coming here, injury be damned.

 

When she thought about it like that… Chat and Adrien weren’t so much different. So _why_ —

 

“ _Marinette,_ ” came Tikki’s voice, making Ladybug snap her eyes open. Averic and Thomas were fiddling with their computers, too busy arguing quietly to pay attention to her. Ladybug turned around, angling herself away from them as she replied, “Tikki _?_ ”

 

“ _I’m sorry,”_ Tikki whispered. _“For this, for—for everything—for putting you through this…”_

“You can explain yourself later, when we’re free.” She pulled on her bonds, to no avail. “Right now, what is the deal with these people? Explain the Presidents—the politics. There has to be some strain there.”

 

 _“The Vice President and the President have never met eye-to-eye, not ever,”_ Tikki said. _“An accumulation of eons of disagreements, if you will—it seems that this century was the final straw.”_

“Are they _soulmates_? If they can remember each other…” Which would explain Aline’s fraught relationship with Gabriel.

 

 _“No.”_ There was anger and disgust in Tikki’s voice. _“It’s always been the same souls over and over in the Program government. They make sure of that by implanting all the previous Program leaders’ memories in some way I can’t fathom into their souls, manipulating it so that they remember_ everything.”

 

Ladybug could almost feel Tikki shudder—or maybe that was just her. Manipulating _souls_? That topic, when it came out in public press, had always been hit with major backlash. Souls and their final memories were _sacred_ , the final bond between people whose love for each other transcends time itself. To _tamper_ with it… Ladybug can’t say she was any better, neglecting her soul’s wish, but this was… it was awful. It didn’t much improve her opinion of her captors. Or of Aline, no matter how hard she tried to see the woman Adrien spoke of with so much love in the President’s cold eyes.

 

“Why now, though?” she asked in a desperate whisper. “They say they’ve been looking for me for a long time. It’s been nearly three years since I became Ladybug, so why have they decided to act _now_? Why were they so desperately trying to track me down _now_?”

_“I imagine because of what you just said,”_ Tikki replied grimly. _“Because they’re_ desperate _. Something’s up. The Program’s number of recruits has been on the fritz for centuries—spiking up, then dropping down as people were recruited and then lost. After the world wars, they were scrambling to get recruits to fill the void of so many dead—so desperate that they recruited whomever—kwami and holders, no matter that they defected to the other side. I’ve seen this before, Mari. Something’s happening, and they don’t have enough people to do anything about it. They’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, hunting down rogues…”_

 

“You and Plagg.”

_“And you and Chat.”_

 

“You really think he’s going to come for me?” Ladybug asked worriedly, her heart feeling squeezed dry.

 

 _“Oh, Mari,”_ Tikki said sadly. _“I don’t doubt it.”_

 

**C H A T  N O I R**

_“Let’s review the plan,”_ Plagg started, his disembodied voice ringing in Chat’s ears as he crouched around the corner of a white-walled, white-tiled hallway. _“We fish a Program personnel out, interrogate them about Ladybug’s whereabouts, knock them out, find her, and slip out without anyone else noticing. Got it,_ mon’ami?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Chat said absently. He was keeping eyes on the hallway, waiting like a tensed spring about to jump up. He was too tight, too trigger-happy. He had one shot to get Ladybug—he couldn’t miss it, not for the world.

 

After Plagg had pointed out the secret slate by one of the Eiffel Tower’s base that had led to a well-lit, spiral staircase, Chat’s mind had possessed only one thought: _Ladybug_. He had to get her out _quick_. He didn’t care how many people he had to fight off, just as long as she was safe.

 

 _“Okay,”_ said Plagg, _“ready? I hear someone coming…”_

Chat strained to hear through the loud pounding in his ears— _the clicking of heels, just one pair, somebody alone_ —and smiled. “Here we go.”

 

There was a hint of worry when Plagg asked, _“You okay, Adrien?”_

 

Chat only nodded. A woman dressed in blue came around the corner. Chat drew back, pressing his back against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible.

 

The heels drew nearer.

 

 _Closer, closer…_ Chat’s hand snapped out and a strangled yelp filled his ears before he grabbed the woman by her lapels and slammed her against the wall. His vision blurry with adrenaline, he pressed an arm against her throat and hissed, “Speak, and you die right now.”

 

The woman’s eyes were wide in surprise. Chat couldn’t help but notice that they were a curious shade of green, like new grass, like—like his own? Chat almost drew back in shock. It felt like his own eyes were staring back at him.

 

His adrenaline fading, he let himself focus on the woman’s face for the first time. She was breathing heavily, but not struggling, surprisingly. She _was_ beautiful, maybe in her early forties or late thirties but other than the barely noticeable streaks of grey in her hair, she was fairly young-looking. A pointed chin defining her high cheekbones, her slim nose, her curling… blonde… hair…

 

Chat’s gaze found itself stuck to her eyes.

 

Her green, green, familiar eyes…

 

 _No._ It couldn’t be. _No, no, no…_

 

It couldn’t be, can’t be because—

 

This was his mother’s face. This was _Aline Agreste’s_ face. What was it doing _here_? Below the Eiffel Tower, in the white-walled hallways of kidnappers? How dare this woman bring his mother’s face into this wretched, cruel place? How dare she?

 

But… could it be?

 

The woman’s—Aline’s?—eyes were wide, and then her lips pulled back into a grin, a feral twist that Chat could not associate with his mother. “Well, if it isn’t the infamous little kitty cat.”

 

“You—You…” _You look like my mother, but that can’t be._ “Who are you?” he demanded, pushing her further up against the wall, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears, like all the alarms had gone off inside his head.

 

“The President of the Miraculous Program, if you can believe,” she said, sounding amused. “I am Aline Agreste—”

 

“ _LIAR!”_ Chat exploded, his emotions like a physical, unstoppable wave. “My mother is _gone_!”

 

“Your… mother?” The woman’s eyes were wide, and green, and mirrored by them were Chat’s own, blown with fury and rejection of the impossible. He refused to think of her as _Aline_ —no, no, no, _no_ …

 

Heaving, Chat stepped back. He felt disoriented: down was up, left was right, and everything he had ever known in his life about abandon and sorrow was wrong. He felt something snap inside him, something vital to him, something important, but at that moment he couldn’t care.

 

Because the woman was clutching at the wall with delicate, familiar fingers. Her face was twisted in confusion and shock. _Do I look like that, too?_ “A-Adrien?” she breathed tentatively, hardly daring to let herself believe. “Adrien, my baby, is that you?”

 

“ _No!”_ Chat gasped, feeling as if she had punched him in the gut with an iron fist. “No, _no_ , this isn’t right, it can’t be!” He pushed his hair out of his face, his fingers shaking so badly they were a blur in his periphery. “You _left_ , you couldn’t be… you couldn’t…” He felt tears spring up in his eyes and when he blinked, they spilled down in a torrent.

 

The woman had tears in her eyes, too, still pressed up against the wall like the impossibility of this reunion was crushing her to it and keeping her still. Her timeless, serene face contorted, her green, green eyes wide.

 

“ _Mom_ …” Chat—Adrien—sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself, that mother’s comforting hug that he had to give himself for the past five years to keep himself from breaking apart. His shoulders shook and then his knees buckled out from under him, and he sat on the floor of this empty hallway, trembling and shattering apart. _“Mom, mom, mom…”_

 

“I… I didn’t think…” Adrien heard his mother laugh in a broken, fractured way, like she was scraping up what was left of her happiness into that one, incredulous laughter. “Oh, _my boy_ …”

 

He heard her footsteps drawing towards him. His head snapped up quickly, and he glared at her with all the anger that he had tried to keep in line for years. The woman, his mother, his lost, broken mother, stepped back in surprise. Never in his life did Adrien think he’d ever scare anyone away like that. He almost laughed in that same way his mother had; he tried to pick up the pieces of the joy in his heart for one last laugh of relief, but found nothing left.

 

“You took…” His breaths came in pants, desperate sucks of air to keep him going. “You took her—you took Ladybug. Where is she?”

 

A flash of hurt crossed her tear-streaked face. And then a look of the greatest sorrow, her eyebrows pulling together and her lips closing and opening to form words. “I can’t let you take her.” It seemed to take every effort in the world for her to say that.

 

Adrien didn’t care. He didn’t have time for traitors. “Where. Is. _She_?” he demanded again. The insistent throbbing at the back of his head was back, tenfold. His heart ached for his mother, for himself, for everything lost between them.

 

“I never wanted you to be caught up in this…” The woman sunk down on her knees in front of him, mirroring his position. One of her hands splayed on the ground and she hung her head like a distant queen waiting for the guillotine’s blade to drop on her pretty, criminal neck. “My son, my son, I never wanted this for you…”

 

“ _WHERE IS SHE?”_ he burst out. His voice echoed back to him and he heard his own misery and desperation. It frightened him a little.

 

The woman didn’t raise her head. Adrien crawled to her and took her by her shoulders, shaking her and making her look up at him, at his twisted face so similar to her own that he could use her as a mirror.

 

“Tell me, _please_ ,” he begged, his tears hitting the ground between them one after the other. _Impossible, impossible—I have my mother in my hands._ “Tell me so we can get out of here. Tell me so I can _leave_.”

 

“Adrien.” Her eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening. “I’m—I am so _sorry_ for leaving, but you have to understand—”

 

“I am so sick of this!” He gripped her shoulders tightly and tried to make her _see_ how much she had hurt him all these years that he thought she didn’t want him and all along she’d been _here_ , plotting against him and Ladybug. It was petty, but all he could think was, _Hurt the way I did_.

 

And she did. He saw her expression cave in on itself and her entire body began to shake.

 

Distantly, he could hear Plagg, begging— _please, Plagg, no more begging_ —but all he could focus on was his mother, his _mother_. Because she was here, and this was impossible, but it was coming true. A living nightmare.

 

“You left me,” he said, as if she could have forgotten. “You told us, you told _him_ , that you didn’t want us and you didn’t even say _goodbye_ to me.”

 

“I couldn’t bear it,” she gasped. She reached for him, to hold him, and he flinched away. She didn’t deserve to hold him—they both knew it. “Adrien, _please_ , my child, my dearest, _please, please_ understand…”

 

“I don’t understand.” He was so, so lost. So gone. “I will never understand why a mother would willingly leave her son on his own, why she would let him think for _five years_ that he wasn’t enough to make her stay.”

 

“It’s not like that!”

 

“Tell me what it _is_ , then, _mother,”_ he snapped, his voice dripping with venom. “Just _try_ to make me understand. _Go on_. _Explain yourself_!”

 

The woman opened her mouth. To explain? To try to defend herself? But all she croaked out was, “I’m sorry.”

 

Chat pushed her away violently, not bearing to touch her. He could feel his heart pounding fast, but didn’t see why it should still be beating. Really, was there ever a reason for him to stay alive?

 

He stood up, using the heel of his hand to wipe away his tears, the proof of his feelings, the remnants of his soul. He looked down, bitterly, scornfully, on his despairing mother and felt his heart break, just one more time.

 

“You’re not my mother,” he said. He was afraid of the sound of his voice, how calm and how sure it was.

 

Aline’s voice trembled. “I’m sorry,” she said again, desperately. “I’m sorry… _Go_.”

 

He thought she was talking to him.

 

She wasn’t.

 

“ _Averic, do it!_ ” she screamed, the shrill sound of something dying.

 

Chat turned, eyes wide, and saw a flash of silver and red as a vial of… of _something_ was injected into the side of his neck. He screamed, and then fell.

 

He struggled, clutching at his neck, as he twitched on the floor. He couldn’t feel his arms, or legs. Everything was dead.

 

He could only move his head and all he could see was his mother’s eyes, flickering between anguish and calmness, like a mask being pulled on then off. Her voice, breaking but hiding it quite well, saying “Take him.”

 

She was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

 

 _The colour, the colour of today,_ he thought as he settled into oblivion, _is the green of a stranger’s eyes… a stranger’s green, green, familiar eyes…_

**L A D Y B U G**

She heard the doors hiss open. Opening her eyes, she could only see shadows and blurs of movement, and hear voices—Averic’s, and Aline’s, but there was something different about the President’s. Something darker under her tone as she said, “Put him down on the other side of the room. Keep them apart.”

 

There was a chorus of _yes, ma’am_ s.

 

 _Him?_ Ladybug scrambled up, the cuffs chaffing her wrists, but she didn’t care, couldn’t care, because that could only mean—

 

Chat. _Oh, God._

 

In Averic’s arms, looking as small as a child, looking as limp as a ragdoll, looking as fragile as a wilting flower.

 

 _Chat_.

 

His name tore through her lungs, through her throat, through her lips. _Chat. Chat._ She screamed his name until it became something else, something indecipherable and inhuman, something desperate and full of anguish.

 

Ladybug screamed until there was nothing, not even noise or air, left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- he was looking for his mom. he never knew it, but he always was.  
> \- sorry your reunion wasn't the way you thought it'd be, buddy  
> \- UNEDITED and WRITTEN FASTER THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT because i am B U R N I N G  
> \- honestly this is the hottest summer in the history of summers  
> \- on the topic of Hamilton: have any of you seen it/will see it? say hi to my son Anthony for me <3


	9. SHORT STORY: carpe noctem, adrien agreste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||takes place two years after the world betrayed Adrien Agreste; the pain is fresh, and the urge to run away is great.  
> so he did  
> ||the following are correspondences between the people who matter most to him, exchanged throughout the grim night of November 20, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -So i'm in a slump. everything's suddenly very busy here on my end, so forgive me if my updates will be infrequent from now on. Like we're talking about month-long spaces now i am so sorry.  
> -this short story doesn't matter to the whole story overall, just something i wrote to get rid of my writing slump and to update this to tell you what i needed to tell you, so it can be skipped.  
> -very, very short and very, very fast-paced

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [yrsnino11@parismail.com](mailto:yrsnino11@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** Whereabouts, Worries & Homework

‘Sup dude. I had your homework for the day, since you didn’t come to school _again_ – what was it this time, model boy, interview or photoshoot? – and I dropped it off at your place an hour ago and asked if I could come in. Nathalie said it might not be a good time, or something…  Are you actually sick? Did a virus manage to touch your perfection? Alya and Marinette were kinda worried and wanted me to ask if you’re alright. So, are you? Reply as fast as your ill hands can type, brother.

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [officialgabrielagreste@parismail.com](mailto:officialgabrielagreste@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

**Subject:**

This is not the time to be dramatic, Adrien. Tell me where you are so I can send Nathalie to pick you up. Might I remind you that you had a photoshoot today, and you missed it? You will have to make up for it tomorrow. For now, just tell me where you are or come home – or I will have to send the police around town.

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [nathaliemarcovich@parismail.com](mailto:nathaliemarcovich@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

**Subject:**

Adrien, your father is very upset with you and it will only worsen his temper if you prolong your absence. And I know you will be wondering, but no – he gives no sign of knowing what this day means to you or what it _should_ mean to him, so I doubt any excuses on your part can be made to soften him. I suggest you return as soon as you can, and I will try to defend you if it comes to that when you face your father.

Please, Adrien.

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [yrsnino11@parismail.com](mailto:yrsnino11@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** Whereabouts, Worries & Homework (pt. 2)

Dude, is something _really off_? I mean, you usually never leave me hanging like this. I have to say – I’m getting a bit worried myself. I tried contacting Nathalie but she keeps saying the same thing, that now’s not a good time and whatever, but your family’s never been one to include me even when things involve you – _especially_ if it involves you.

This is the first time it’s mattered or hurt me.

The girls are restless, by the way. Alya reckons you’ve been kidnapped for ransom. Mari’s been trying not to let the idea get to her, but I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown, so please contact us as soon as you can before we completely lose it.

 

**To:** [mariknits@parismail.com](mailto:mariknits@parismail.com)

**From:** [alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com](mailto:alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** CALM DOWN

I’m sorry if I spooked you with the whole ransom idea – but honestly, I’m a bit scared. I mean, he’s always been a bit of a target, right? Shines so bright, attracts crows like Chloe… and maybe something more sinister.

But let’s talk sensibly here – his phone could be broken? He could be grounded? Or sick?

Give me ideas here, Mari. Meet me halfway.

You’re not the only one that’s a little bit in love with how he shines.

 

_“You’ve reached the household of Gabriel Agreste. This is Nathalie Marcovich speaking, how may I help you?”_

_“Um, uh – this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien’s fri—classmate.”_

_“If you’re calling to inquire about him like a Mister Nino has, I’m afraid I have nothing to tell you that I have not told him.”_

_“No, it’s – it’s…”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Adrien’s one of my best friends and I’ve been going out of my mind for the past two hours, you see, wondering the worst… I just need to know if he’s okay.”_

_“There’s nothing you can do about it. Please, if any information makes itself apparent, I will be sure to contact you—”_

_“… He’s gone, isn’t he.”_

_“No! Please forget what I said – everything’s alright, now’s just not a very kindly time for Adrien.”_

_“But he’s not at home?”_

_“Er – I guess not…”_

_“Please don’t lie to me, Miss Nathalie.”_

_“… You say he’s your friend?”_

_“… Yes.”_

_“… Then I suppose if anyone can find him, you can. He has a soft spot for anyone willing to love him. He treasures everything that does – until they don’t anymore.”_

_“W-What?”_

_“Yes, you’re right – Master Adrien has run away. We’ve been looking for him for the past day, but I’m afraid I stand well on my earlier report. Today’s not a kind day for him. We have no idea where he is.”_

_“Why did he go?”_

_“… That’s a story he’ll have to tell you himself.”_

_“We’ll find him.”_

_“How sure are you?”_

_“Not very – but I owe it to him to try my best.”_

_“Then I wish you all the luck in the world, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”_

_“Yes, thank you.”_

_“No, it is I who should thank you – find him, and bring him home.”_

**To:** [alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com](mailto:alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com)

**From:** [mariknits@parismail.com](mailto:mariknits@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** I’m calm

Calm enough to go out searching for him. Nathalie told me – he’s gone, Alya. He’s run away.

Meet me at the Tower in 5.

 

**To:** [yrsnino11@parismail.com](mailto:yrsnino11@parismail.com)

**From:** [alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com](mailto:alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** ok…

Meet me and Mari at the Eiffel Tower. Bring flashlights.

And food.

We’re hunting down an Agreste.

Be careful xoxo

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [yrsnino11@parismail.com](mailto:yrsnino11@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** Mission Agreste-able

We’re going out to look for you, just you know. Now’s the best time to tell us where you are – don’t make it hard for all of us, Adrien.

Although, I think we knew from the moment we met you that being your friend meant things like this. And I think we’re not regretting anything except for the fact that we don’t know you enough or love you enough to know where in hell you could be. Our search starts at the Tower.

Meet us halfway.

_Carpe noctem!_

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com](mailto:alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 20, 2011

 **Subject:** Where are you

I noticed, you know.

The whole week, you’ve been looking like your soul’s decaying faster than it should be. You’ve been staring out far too many windows for an angsty teenage boy – more than normal, to be precise. You looked drained, you smiled but it didn’t light up your eyes when you do. Your laughter was short, your voice was clipped. Your pretty colours were muted, Adrien.

And I think I know why.

If you don’t want me to tell Nino or Marinette before _you_ can – and we both know they’ll be hurt by that, because God knows I wasn’t exactly ecstatic when I figured out where our friendship was limited – tell me where you are or come to the Tower.

I didn’t want to have to resort to blackmail.

But you didn’t have to resort to running away tonight, either.

I’m sorry your mother failed you – but you should’ve known by now that we wouldn’t. Not in a million years. Not in a million nights.

 

**To:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**From:** [officialgabrielagreste@parismail.com](mailto:officialgabrielagreste@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 21, 2011

**Subject:**

Nathalie told me what today is – or what yesterday was, it seems.

I’m tired, Adrien, tired of running after you. And I think you’re tired of running away.

Just come home.

 

**To:** [nathaliemarcovich@parismail.com](mailto:nathaliemarcovich@parismail.com)

**From:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 21, 2011

 **Subject:** whereabouts

I’m at a café near the Eiffel with Nino and the girls. Don’t tell father. Pick me up, please. I’m exhausted.

 

 **To:**[yrsnino11@parismail.com](mailto:yrsnino11@parismail.com), [alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com](mailto:alyathepixiefiend@parismail.com), [mariknits@parismail.com](mailto:mariknits@parismail.com)

**From:** [adrienagreste@parismail.com](mailto:adrienagreste@parismail.com)

**Date:** November 22, 2011

 **Subject:** Thank you and I’m sorry

Thank you for coming after me last night. I’m sorry for worrying you.

Please come over after school.

There’s a story I want to tell you.


	10. A Simple Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which i update after 98 years  
> -in which the plot Develops  
> -in which characters you may or may not know Suffer  
> -also, trigger warning for implied suicide

There was a routine Marinette had after waking up from a bad dream.

First, she tried to breathe. _In, out, in, out, in, out_ – again and again until it was more about the systematics than staying alive. Even when every inhale was sand down her lungs and every exhale was shards of glass clawing up her throat, she would force herself to breathe.

Then, she would remind himself that she was still alive. A finger to her pulse was sometimes inadequate but for the most part, it worked enough that she didn’t feel like vomiting or crying out for unneeded help.

Next, she would kick off her covers and walk to her balcony. She’d lean out, feel the cold night air on her damp skin, and imagine steadying arms around her that would keep her from falling over the edge. Sometimes, it was her parents’. Other times, Alya’s or Nino’s.

Most times, it was the warm iron grip of a blond-haired boy with a smile as bright as the sun and a voice enough to bring her back from the dead if need be.

Afterwards – long, long afterwards – she’d go back to sleep hoping for a more peaceful slumber. 

That was for the kinder nightmares.

 _This_ —

She didn’t think there was a coming back from whatever this was. No routine in the world could save her now. To save both of them.

It had been a lifetime of screaming since they’d dragged him into the room and bound him up; after she tore her throat to shreds, she settled for hoarse begging – _‘Please, not him, just let him go. He’s so tired—’_ – that, unsurprisingly, fell to deaf ears. Only Aline bothered a cursory glance at Ladybug before rattling off orders to her subordinates.

In _Russian_.

The blatant exclusion and secrecy was enough to make Ladybug try for another scream, but by then Aline was fed up. She stalked over to where Ladybug was sitting up, her green eyes blazing with a strange darkness that hadn’t been there before. Or perhaps it had always been there, just hidden by that faux amusement that was all she had bothered to spare before.

Ladybug tried not to, but she recoiled when Aline took her chin in a white-knuckled grip hard enough to bruise later.

“Let go of me,” she grumbled through clenched teeth, turning her head away from the President.

“Look at me, _my Lady_.” The way she said it was not how it was meant to be said – sharp and cutting and mocking.

 _Chat would never call me my Lady that way,_ Ladybug thought. After a horrified glance at Chat’s limp form crumpled in another corner, she added with panic, _Maybe he will never get the chance to._

She wanted him to. She wanted him to be angry with her, to snap and curse her name, to tell her she was the most selfish human to ever exist. She wanted a chance to tell him the truth he deserved, she wanted a chance to just say, _I love—_

“What did you do to him?” she asked with venom, pushing the thought violently from her mind. Then, with more heat, “ _What did you do?_ ”

“Calm down, Ladybug,” Aline purred.

“Just let me go to him, _please_.”

“Look. At. _Me_.” Aline jerked her head upwards fast and hard enough to hurt. Ladybug flinched at the bleakness in Aline’s face, at the twisted features that did not belong to a face that was almost identical to Adrien’s. At Ladybug’s grimace, Aline grinned almost wildly.

(Answer: 5 seconds)

“You,” she said quietly, ignoring the fact that Ladybug was looking away again, because she knew she had her attention, and Ladybug wished she’d just shout, “will not look at him ever again. Do you understand me? You will _never_ —”

“What is it to you?” Ladybug asked. “Why does it matter if you’re going to kill us—”

“ _Kill_ you?” There was exaggerated shock in Aline’s voice. “Oh, darling, we’re not going to _kill_ you. We are going to _use_ you.”

 _Use…_ “You don’t need both of us,” she said, trying to hide the fact that it was another desperate plea. “Just let Chat go.”

“Such selflessness.”

 _I’m not_ , she wanted to say, but the truth was as dangerous as bullets here, so she kept her mouth shut. She raised her eyes to Aline again, but the Miraculous President shoved her face away and walked towards the screens without another glance back. Ladybug watched her go for a moment, and then she looked at Chat.

 _Wake up_ , she begged silently, feeling foolish and useless but desperate enough to try. _Please wake up, wake up so we can get out of here. Wake up, and I promise you I’ll tell you everything_ —

Chat raised his head.

 

**C H A T  N O I R**

Why was she looking at him like that? Like he was a promise and damnation and an answer? Like he was a nightmare and a dream and a question?

“My Lady…?” Why was his head pounding? Why were his eyes stinging? Why was his arms bound? He tried for a smile and winced at the sharp pain the movement sent across his head. “Ow. Hi. Hi, I meant _hi_.”

Ladybug’s eyes flashed with phantom pain. “Chat,” she whispered. Why was she so far away? Why was her voice so raw? “My Chat—”

“Ah, you’re awake. Good timing.”

Chat forced his gaze away from Ladybug, wondering why everything was so sluggish and slow, and followed the voice to a woman standing with her back to him in front of a computer screen with too many words and pictures for him to follow. Three men were busy at the control panels set up in front of it, pushing buttons and pulling levers in some coordinated dance Chat couldn’t follow.

The woman’s voice was familiar.

Chat turned his head to Ladybug again. “Are you okay?” he felt compelled to ask, though he couldn’t see any evidence of pain on her save for the anguish in her eyes that spoke volumes.

Ladybug nodded grimly. “Are _you_?”

“I think so,” he said slowly. “My head hurts though. And everything is so _slow_ …”

“An aftereffect of the drug,” the strange woman answered again. “You will snap out of it soon, I promise.”

Chat was too tired to look back at her. His eyes were set only on the girl in front of him. “Drug?” he asked curiously, not quite understanding. “What drug?”

“The one I used to knock you out,” replied the woman. Chat saw Ladybug’s jaw clench. She swore under her breath and leaned towards him.

He didn’t understand that she was trying to pull free of something until she said, “Let me get to him, you sadistic pricks! He needs my help.”

“He doesn’t need _anything_ from you,” the blonde woman snapped at her.

Through the muddled fog over his brain, something furious and wild made him say, albeit quietly and without the heat he’d intended, “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“I will talk to her as I please.”

“You will not.”

“Chat, please,” Ladybug pleaded, her eyebrows drawing together. Chat wanted to brush those furrows away. “Just shut up. Let me handle this, okay?” She smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Chat moved to get up towards her and was vaguely surprised at the chains that pulled him back down. He stared long and hard at them, pulled weakly again, and listened curiously to the sound of their chime. Why was he chained?

Why was he on the floor in the first place? Why was Ladybug watching him with such open fear?

Why did the woman sound so famil—

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Everything came rushing back, like a tsunami wave racing back to the shore after pulling away for a few moments. Everything, _everything_ – them taking her away, the mad dash across Paris looking for her, all the screaming.

His mother. His mother was here.

His _mother_ was _here_.

“You…” he began, wishing for it to not be true, hoping against hope that he’d been mistaken. He prayed to wake up from this nightmare. He prayed for everything to just fade away again, and promised whoever was listening that if he woke in a moment and found everything unchanged, he would work to change it.

He’d tell Ladybug the truth she deserved. He’d tell Nino and Alya and Marinette the story they should know. He’d even go to that psychiatrist he’d wanted to go to for a while and sort everything out. He’d do everything to make things right, if he would just _wake up_.

But then the blonde woman was turning towards him, and she was smiling, and the pain that smile brought to him was real enough that he knew he had to be wide awake to feel this much anguish.

“Hello, Chat Noir. We need your help.”

 

**T I K K I**

She had a vague idea where this was going.

Through the faint bond that all kwamis had with each other, that she had turned a deaf ear to after what happened after the war, she felt Plagg simmer and knew he had one, too.

 _After all we did to protect them…_ Tikki lamented.

She’d felt something wrong in the air for the past months. She’d known something big was coming, but she’d hoped Marinette would be free of her by the time Tikki would get caught in the crossfires again. Both she and Plagg’s boy didn’t deserve any of this, didn’t deserve to be ruled under the Program’s rough thumb like their predecessors had been. But it was too late to turn back now, and Tikki could only sit and wait for what the President had to say for herself this time.

Shock and anger were still roiling off Marinette in waves, threatening to tear the bond between her suit and herself apart, but Tikki forced it to hold for just a while longer. She knew how betrayed Marinette was feeling for Adrien’s sake, and the state the Program had brought Chat in was just fuel to a fire that had been raging ever since that night after they’d found Adrien under the Eiffel Tower and he’d told them the story of a boy and his mother.

She knew and she felt it, and she felt like a coward for saying, _I’m sorry, Mari, but please hold on for the both of us_.

 

**L A D Y B U G**

“This is a very unconventional way to ask for someone’s help, don’t you think?” Chat asked, his words in a drawl like he was still shaking off the effects the drug had dealt on his system. “I would have settled for a _please_ and a promise of a good meal afterwards, but I guess kidnapping and emotional torture does the trick just as well, huh?”

“It was a last resort,” Averic said, speaking for the very first time. He pushed away from his side of the control panel and gave a grave nod to Aline, who was still staring long and hard at Chat’s crumpled form. “We’re ready for you, ma’am.”

“Good,” Aline said slowly, turning away from Chat with obvious effort. She met Ladybug’s eyes from across the room and added with a small grimace, “Let’s get started before these two cause another ruckus, shall we?”

Ladybug used what limited mobility she had to turn her body slightly enough so that Aline could see exactly what her middle finger thought of that.

Aline rolled her eyes. “Very mature, Ladybug.”

“You could’ve just _asked_ ,” Ladybug growled, repeating Chat’s sentiment with the ferocity he was oddly lacking. “All of this wasn’t necessary!”

“Oh, but it was.” Aline stared down at her with Adrien’s eyes.

(Answer: 7 seconds)

“Your kwamis aren’t quite fond of us, you see. They would’ve never agreed to go as quietly as they did if we had not snuck up on them.” Aline waggled her fingers at her, strangely child-like. “Our souls are too tangled to tear apart now, though, no matter how hard you try to pull. You’ll only end up hurting yourselves.”

Somehow, Ladybug didn’t think she was speaking to just one of them.

Aline continued with an air of superiority, “Knowing how hard Tikki and Plagg have fought to keep their new… _hosts_ … as away from us as possible, I assume neither of you know the story of this whole mess, right?”

“You assume wrong,” Chat Noir muttered bitterly. Ladybug spared him a hurt look.

He knew? And he didn’t tell her? Was she always going to be the only one out of the loop? He noticed the dark gaze she had on him and was quick to add, “Not until very recently, I promise. And only under certain circumstances.”

Ladybug swallowed down her accusations and turned back to Aline, whose smile was more mocking than anything. “You have five minutes,” Ladybug said. “Spill your story, give us whatever messed-up mission you have to propose, and then we can decide.”

“Ten,” Aline insisted.

“ _Seven_ ,” Ladybug hissed with finality.

Aline shrugged, looked at her a beat too long, and then turned away. She faced the screens, allowing Ladybug to meet Chat’s eyes for a moment.

 _Are you okay?_ he mouthed.

She nodded, even though none of this was ever going to be okay. His eyes softened as he called her lie, but he didn’t say anything else—just stared at her across the empty space as if he would be content to do it for the rest of his life. What frightened her was that she would be content, too.

She promised him the truth if he woke, if he lived, and here he was, awake and alive. After whatever Aline had to say and do, she vowed to pull him aside and just – just speak. Just tell. Just bare her soul and pray for the best, even when she knew she deserved only the worst. The thought of how uncertain her future was, and how it all relied on the next seven minutes, was enough to make her heart pound a dark beat in her chest, like a war drum, but with it came a rush of relief. As if everything in her, from her guilt to her sorrow to her soul, had sighed and said, _finally, finally, finally…_

“Are you two done back there?” Aline snapped. “You’re using up my time.”

“I,” said Chat very slowly, without taking his eyes off Ladybug, off Marinette, “don’t particularly care.”

Aline huffed, an indignant and startled sound, and Ladybug wondered if there was genuine hurt in there as well. “Well, it’s good to know that’s the general thought in the room.” She took a rattling breath, as if steeling herself for the words to come, and finally begun her tale.

“The Miraculous Program strives to protect, to serve humanity.”

“Yeah, right,” Ladybug muttered.

Aline ignored her. “We have been upholding that mission for centuries, using our advanced knowledge to sway the fates to our cause. It may seem taboo to the rest of the world to tamper with soulmates, but the Miraculous Program strives only for the betterment of the populace, our own interests and beliefs be damned. I have seen much of this world through varying eyes, I was there when empires were built and there when they were torn down. I remember because my soul has been made to.”

Ladybug had already known this, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chat visibly stiffen at Aline’s words. She turned to him, desperate to assure him that love was not as superficial as Aline had made it sound, that soulmates were not _science_ but fate, and he had wrenched his gaze away from her in exchange for staring dumbly at the back of Aline’s head.

“You manipulate… souls.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an accusation either. Just a statement, bleak and without much of Chat’s Chat-ness.

Aline nodded. “Call it what you will, but trust me when I say it is for the best.

I am old and wise. I have lost count of how many bodies I have lived in. But one thing has not changed: I am a Miraculous officer through and through and I will serve and protect at whatever cost. It took twelve of our best and bravest spies to get this information, so I will expect you to listen and listen good.

Averic will now show you the tapes paid by twelve lives.”

Ladybug abandoned staring at Chat for gaping at the Miraculous people. “You’re joking.” Then, much louder, “You’re _joking_. What could possibly be worth sacrificing lives for?”

“The lives of others,” Aline said bitterly, and Averic hit a switch.

The lights dimmed. The whirring and beeping of machinery quieted as if in mourning. And then the screens were showing an image of a frazzled young woman – _oh, God_ , Ladybug thought with sudden panic, _she’s as young as me, she’s as young as me_ – with brown hair and wide, fearful eyes. She was running, judging by the way the camera shook and turned every which way, and her voice was hardly audible through the static and the sound of echoing bullet shots.

Ladybug flinched at every one.

 _“—overheard,”_ the woman, the _girl_ , was saying, out of breath and delirious, _“they were—planning to—souls… and annihilate every one ever involved with—us. Oh, God. They’re coming for us and—”_ The girl froze. She looked down at the camera with an odd stiffness. And then blood trickled from the side of her mouth and down her chin. Her eyes were full of tears as she whispered, _“I’m sorry,”_ and the screen went black.

Ladybug didn’t have time to take her breath back before a second clip started, this one of an older man, probably in his twenties, with ash-white hair and eyes as blue as the sky. His breathing was laboured and harsh, and the way his eyes flicked around wherever he was as he spoke made it clear that he was very, very afraid to be found. _“This will have to be short. I’m pretty sure they’ll find me soon. Here is what I’ve learned: the head of the Brigade is somewhere in Paris. They are planning to start whatever it is they’re planning on the city, and they’re attacking soon. Very, very soon. I have every cause to say their big move will happen within the year. This is—”_ He froze, focusing on one spot beyond the camera, and Ladybug’s blood chilled at what she knew was coming next. _“They’re here,”_ the boy said, looking straight into the camera again. _“Time for last words. Fuck you people. Fuck your one-track mind. Fuck you for letting_ children _fight you battles for you and—_ ” He looked up at something Ladybug couldn’t see, and he smiled slowly. Without taking his eyes off whoever had him cornered, he said, _“Tell Bridgette I love her, and that she was the only good thing about your Program.”_

The screen cut to black. A tiny gasp made its way out of Ladybug’s mouth, and a whimper from far away told her that Chat had lost his own battle with his emotions, too. “Stop,” she begged, “that’s enough,” but Aline was already playing the next death.

A woman sat next to a grave, leaning against it. Her eyes were hollow and dead, and she was staring beyond the camera as if she didn’t think whoever was watching deserved eye contact. Ladybug flinched at the blankness in her words as she began to speak her report, _“One of the kwamis spilled our secrets to the Brigade, and that’s how they found out about your messed up system of souls. That’s how they realized that there_ is _a way to manipulate souls, that’s there is a simple science behind it, a science they can use against you. Serves you right, I suppose. The Program is going to be in hot waters soon. Better say your goodbyes. Your souls are never going to see daylight again, once the Brigade is done with you. Speaking of goodbyes…”_ She pulled something out of her pocket, and Ladybug couldn’t stop her breathy exhale of ‘No,’ when the gun came into view. The girl, dark-haired and dry-eyed, finally spared the camera a dismissive glance. _“This one’s mine. My death and his,”_ she said this with a jerk of her chin towards the grave she was leaning on, _“are on you. See you in hell, you pathetic cowards.”_

“Stop!” Chat Noir shouted, and this time Aline listened. She held up a hand, and Averic paused the video just as the girl was raising the gun to her head. Aline faced the both of them, her face blank, waiting for their reaction.

Ladybug found her voice first, but all she could say was, “Why?”

Aline cut her a dark look. “Why what?”

“Why do you send out children?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Why do you do this to us? Why do you hide behind a wall made of innocents and call it heroism?”

“Children are more agile,” Aline said dismissively, but Ladybug thought that couldn’t be all. “And they’re multiplying by the minute, making them dispensable.”

“Is that all I am to you people?” Chat asked softly from his corner. “Is that all _we_ are?”

Aline turned away from Ladybug to focus on Chat, and Ladybug swore Aline’s tone softened when she said, “You are a hero.”

“I am a device,” Chat said wearily, and turned his head away from her as if he couldn’t bear to look at the President’s face any longer. “Just tell us what you want us to do, O Great and All-Knowing Aline.”

Ladybug frowned. Had anyone told Chat Aline’s name?

Aline shrugged stiffly and turned back to Ladybug. “And you? Are you willing to work for us again?”

 _“No,”_ Tikki said.

“I will listen,” Ladybug said slowly, still seeing the red of the first girl’s blood. Still seeing the spiteful, hopeless smile of a dead boy. Still seeing the blank eyes of a woman leaning against the gravestone of someone she loved. She cut a glance at Chat, imagining what the world would’ve been like if he’d been one of them, if Plagg hadn’t ran from this twisted society.

“I understand that you will not let their deaths be in vain,” Aline said, infuriatingly so sure of herself.

“I will _listen_ ,” Ladybug repeated. “That does not mean I will agree. Think very, very hard on what you have to answer for this: what would you have us do?”

Aline didn’t miss a beat. “I will have you infiltrate the Brigade. I will have you kill their head of operations and stop their plans once and for all.”

 _One-track mind indeed,_ she thought sourly. “There is a chance we will die like them,” she said slowly. “All of this, and for what? What, exactly, are their plans?”

“Oh, nothing much,” said Aline. “Just that they’ve found a way to crush the souls of those involved with the Program into nothing.”

Her eyes hardened as she added, with a heavy graveness, “This means that once they’ve perfected their device or whatever it is they’re going to use – they can erase us from existence. Yes, _us_ , my Lady.” Aline’s grin was vicious, but her eyes were dark. “If they succeed, your soul will be _permanently_ deleted. So,” she said sweetly, even as Ladybug gaped disbelievingly at her, “what will it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANk YOU SO MUCH FOR THOSE WHO WAITED THIS LONG OMG AND TO THOSE WHO'VE BEEN READING AND COMMENTING FOR THE PAST WEEK YOU ARE MY INSPIRATION I2G, YOU PEOPLE ARE AMAZING <3  
> im really sorry for the grammatical mess this. i literally wrote this while in the middle of a v important school meeting because i have no time otherwise, so yeah. no time to look for plot holes or misspellings until later im sorry ;-;


	11. SHORT STORY: Marry Me, Nino Lahiffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which Nino & Alya talk at night, and Nino gets a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, not really a Big chapter, bc school started and i made the stupid mistake of joining every extracurricular event possible. yes, im a nerd. a stressed-out nerd who doesn't know what "consistent updates" mean. sorry.  
> you can skip this chapter. or maybe not - because there is a little development near the end ;)

“Hey, Nino… what do you think about marriage?”

Nino’s arms tightened around her waist, more reflex than an indication that he was awake. Alya couldn’t blame him – a glance at the clock on his bedside table told her it was just a little past 2:30 in the morning. If she hadn’t been kept awake by that one question, she would have been forehead-deep in dreamland, too. Instead, here she was, sweat on her hands and thoughts racing around her head like they were in a goddamned marathon. Awake and afraid.

“Hey…” She reached to grip his wrist, squeezing lightly. “Nino?”

He grumbled and said into her hair, “Als?”

He still sounded half-asleep, but Alya didn’t think she could wait any longer. She had to know. “What do you think about marriage?”

She felt Nino’s breath hitch and his heart start pounding at her back. Anxiety set in, and she wondered if it was too late to backtrack.

But then his arms tightened a little bit more, pulling her to him, and his drowsy voice was at her ear saying, “Where did that come from?”

“I – I don’t know, really. I’ve just been thinking and…” She shifted out of his arms to turn towards him. She was surprised to see how awake his eyes were, albeit still-half-lidded, but she supposed that was what attracted her to him in the first place. Those eyes. The life in them. How open they were – as if, when she looked too close, she’d see the inner workings of his beautiful mind. “Well, we’re eighteen…”

“Yeah?” he said, his breath brushing against her lips. They were lying so close together that she could pick out all of interesting colours of his eyes, but also so close that he could definitely see the red rushing to her cheeks.

“Well.” Her hand went to his waist, needing something to hold on to. “We can get married, if we wanted. And we’re soulmates. It’s not like we have other choices. Wait. That came out wrong. I don’t _want_ any other choice besides you but – well… there’s the choice of taking the extra step, if we wanted. If you want to.”

She was usually so good with words. She was a _blogger_ , for Christ’s sake. But there was just something about the way he was suddenly looking at her, like she had suddenly become a stranger. Or a mystery.

The silence following her words was a painful, physical thing.

And then he said, “Do _you_ want to?”

“I…” She used her other hand to brush the hair out of his face. “You hair’s getting too long.”

He laughed lightly into her palm. “Don’t change the subject, Als.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Not to me.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Thank you. But I still see you changing the subject.”

“How? You don’t have your glasses on.”

“I’m not _that_ blind. Besides, I always see you. Always.”

She kissed him softly, tasting the sleep on his lips before pulling back to look into his eyes. “Marriage is… it’s binding. And full of promises.”

“Promises you can break,” he said quietly, and she knew he was thinking of Adrien’s mother, and the hurt in his eyes when he’d told them what she did.

“We’re not like that,” she said insistently, knowing it to be true.

He nodded, and wrapped his hand around hers, the one on his waist. It wasn’t assurance. They were too honest and too sure of what they were to ever fear anything coming between them.

They both knew how awful things could get – even with soulmates. They’d both been there when Adrien spilled his heart over the pictures he’d kept even after his mother left. They’d both cried, both thought of their own mothers. Mrs Lahiffe, whose husband had left for war and hadn’t returned. Ms Césaire, whose soulmate was still out there, whose children were her life, but who was still yearning for her soul.

Nino and Alya weren’t going to be like that. They wouldn’t let themselves be.

They were going to write their own story.

“Marriage is pretty useless,” she said softly, looking from his lips to his eyes. “I mean, we’re practically married already. With two extremely troublesome children.”

He laughed, a sweet, careful sound. “They’re going through their angst phase, Mama Alya.”

“Papa Nino, what are we to do?” She snorted and dissolved into fits of giggles at how ridiculous that was.

There was humour in his eyes, but his words were serious as he said, “But if you want to, if you want to walk down an aisle or something…”

“Marriage isn’t about aisles or gowns,” she said, a plan forming into her head. “It’s about vows. Vows we can make ourselves.” She sat up, grinning down at his tussled hair, his wide eyes, his knowing smirk. “Let’s do it now. Marry me, Nino Lahiffe.”

He laughed, and she laughed, but he rose to his knees in front of her and took her hand in his. “I’ll marry you, Alya Césaire,” he said, the soft glow of his lamplight casting shadows over his face. “Right here, right now.” He laughed again. “Even though we both have drool on our faces.”

“And I haven’t changed out of this shirt in two days,” she added.

“And we’re both still half-asleep.”

“Joke’s on you, I didn’t sleep at all.”

“I’m pretty sure I look like shit.”

“You do.”

“You do, too.”

“Well, do you, Nino Lahiffe, take me, Alya Césaire, to be your unlawfully wedded wife?” she asked. “Even though we both agree we _are_ already married? And that marriage is pretty much just two people loving each other?”

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “I’ll marry you again. I’ll marry you again and again, if you ask me to. Yes, Alya, I do.”

“I do, too,” she said softly.

They kissed, and it was a sleepy kiss that tasted of drool, but that didn’t matter.

In fact, to them, maybe nothing mattered as long as they were together. Married or not. Soulmates or not.

“Alright,” she said, feeling high and a bit tipsy. And sleepy. “Now let’s go to sleep, husband.”

He laughed. “Whatever you say, wife.”

 

 

“Hey, Als? Als. Wake up. I just checked my phone. Als. Wake up. Please. I need you. Nathalie texted me. Adrien’s gone. Alya, _Adrien’s gone_.”

Well. Maybe _something_ mattered.


	12. I Have Decided to Elope with Adrien Agreste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which titles are very misleading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I AM FULLY AWARE OF HOW LONG ITS BEEN NOBODY EVEN READS THIS ANYMORE LOL  
> but i have to finish this  
> its my story  
> and i want it told.  
> ANYWAY HERES A REALLY RUSHED THING I WROTE WHILE HALF-ASLEEP <3

Deleted.

How fragile life was, how _insignificant_ , that a single word could encompass so many things about it.

Deleted, to Adrien Agreste would mean this:

He will never again hear the sound of Nino’s laughter, never see Alya’s small smiles and wide grins. He will never sit at a café and look out at the city he loved, at the city he would die for. He will never run up the stairs of his school, trying not to trip as he glanced at the time and think, _shit shit shit I’m late_ — He will never stand in line at the cafeteria, impatient, or read a book or go camping or model one of his father’s designs, or—

Or hear Ladybug call him _kitty_.

Or hear Marinette call him _Adri_.

Or hear her at all…

His soul will not see beyond this century. This decade. This year.

He will never get the chance to meet his soulmate, and she’ll be doomed to wander the earth, searching, but never finding.

And even though he’d died so many times, in so many ways, this time, there was no safety net.

He was falling, falling, falling, and there was nothing but oblivion waiting below him.

He met Ladybug’s eyes from across the room. Somehow, it already felt like goodbye.

But she ripped her gaze away from him as if by force and his fierce, defiant lady glared at the president, at his _mother_ , and spat, “You could be lying.”

Chat couldn’t see Aline’s face. She was turned away from him and the part of Chat that was still Adrien couldn’t help but feel relieved that he didn’t have to look at her face – _his_ own face – anymore. Not in this context. Not in this room of washed-out white and glaring lights and the video tape that was still paused a second before a young girl was forced to find a way out of a life his own mother had forced her into.

“Or I could be not,” she said. “And sometime this year, you could be – oh, I don’t know – just be walking down the street, or standing in line at the grocery store, or meeting your soulmate for the first time, and you’ll suddenly cease to exist.”

“That’s unfair,” Ladybug said, and there was a strain in her voice that made Chat think of those slow-motion videos of glass being broken, a gradual crack down the middle.

“I do what I have to do.”

“Do you, though?” Chat finally addressed his mother. “Do you _really_ have to do this?”

Aline froze, or Chat thought she did, at the sound of his voice, but when she turned to him, her face was lifted in a sneer that twisted her features into something so far from the kind mother Adrien knew. “The Program was built to secure the safety of all people,” she said. “We cannot accomplish that if all of us are dead.”

“Why do you have to drag her into this?” Chat indicated Ladybug, whose eyes were alight with a dangerous fury. “I can do this alone.”

“Like hell you can,” Ladybug replied.

“I _can_ ,” Chat emphasized without taking his eyes off of Aline. “If you let her go, I promise you I’ll do your bidding. I’ll help you take down this – this Brigade. I’ll help you. I’ll do anything. But leave her out of it.”

“You don’t get to decide for me!”

Aline studied his face, ignoring Ladybug’s protestations.

There was a flicker of… something, just behind the coldness and the cruelty, but it was gone before Chat could place it. Finally, after a moment, Aline said, “It has to be the two of you.”

 _“Why_?” Chat asked, tired and exasperated and _I just want to go to sleep and wake up in a new century_.

“Because there is no creation without destruction, no destruction without creation.” Aline recited it as if it were a long-memorized poem. “There is no light without dark, no dark without light. It has to be both of you. Always.”

Chat closed his eyes and willed for everything to disappear.

And then Ladybug’s voice, cutting through the heavy silence: “Then we’ll do it. On one condition.”

**T I K K I**

Tikki could feel the willpower it took for Ladybug to say those words. Tension was rolling off of her in waves.

“Oh?” Aline’s voice was grating. Infuriating. It was a voice Tikki had hoped never to hear again. “And what is your demand, Lady?”

“If – _When_ we succeed, you will leave the two of us _alone_.” Determination – as steady as stone, as appalling as the universe itself. “And you will give every agent you have, every staff member, a choice to stay or leave your – your _organization_ if they choose.”

Aline’s eyes – Adrien’s eyes – scanned Ladybug’s face for a sign of wavering. Tikki knew she wouldn’t find anything but clear-cut strength. That was partly why Tikki had been drawn to Marinette. She’d reminded her of someone Tikki once knew, someone who fought so bravely and never went down without a fight.

“And that’s all?” Aline said.

“Yes,” Ladybug whispered.

“Then so be it.”

“Then we have a deal.”

“Yes, I believe we do.”

**C H A T**

This was insanity.

Ladybug couldn’t—

 _He_ couldn’t—

He’d give anything to understand, to see inside her beautiful mind and collect her thoughts like treasure.

 

**L A D Y B U G**

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

_If I do this, I won’t lose him._

Even as Ladybug thought this, over and over like a mantra or a prayer or a hope she was desperate to make herself believe in, fear and anger were brewing under her skin like storm clouds.

The road ahead was long. And treacherous.

But…

If she did this, she won’t lose him.

 

**C H A T  
**

And just like that, his fate was sealed.

He didn’t even get to say anything about it.

 _Question: Why does she never ask me what_ I _want?_

 

**L A D Y B U G**

She shook Aline’s hand.

She signed papers and tried not to look guilty as Chat did the same, his eyes clouded.

_Answer: Because if you speak, you will speak to protect me._

_Additional notes: I cannot lose you again._

_Citation(s): The day you died, a hundred years ago._

**P L A G G**

Well.

The world had gone to shit fast.

 

**N I N O**

**YOU:** adrien? Where are you?

 **YOU:** pls adri

 **YOU:** don’t do this to me again, dude.

 **YOU:** pls

 **YOU:** adrien where are you im so worried and alya’s going crazy

 **YOU:** please. Please. Please. Please.

_seen 3:19AM_

**PRETTY BOY** : I’ll be gone for a while. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye another way, but tell everyone I’ll be back soon. I’m going on a well-deserved self-discovery mission/treasure hunt with marinette <3 miss u already

 **PRETTY BOY:** also, tell dad not to be freaked by the broken windows in my room. I just felt like it. U know. We all have those days when we just want to punch a window lol

 **PRETTY BOY:** again. i am so sorry, Nino.

**M A R I N E T T E**

_Dear mama and papa,_

_I have decided to elope with Adrien Agreste._

_HAHAHAHA. Kidding. But could you imagine?_

_Me and Adrien have decided that our current lives need a bit of… tweaking. It started with a late-nigh conversation about our futures and quickly spiralled into this whole… thing. We decided to go soul-searching. To “find ourselves” as YA novel summaries say. We’re going across the country, travelling. Just trying to find our places in the world._

_Don’t worry, okay?_

_I’ll be alright. We’ll be okay._

_I miss you._

_I love you._

_Tell Alya and Nino not to freak out._

_I’ll call you as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Mari <3_


	13. time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ||in which time is the center of all things

**M A R I N E T T E, 3:20 AM**

_Love,_

_Mari <3_

Even the signature seemed like a lie.

Love? _Was_ this love? To leave her parents with nothing but a letter while she goes on missions for an organization she doesn’t trust, to tell her best friends “not to worry” when she goes AWOL on them?

Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she had initially thought, when she was chained to the ground and had been forced to watch teenagers die on an LED screen. It was easy to forget that part of the night entirely when the room the Program had relegated to her was cozy enough, despite the thinly-veiled threat that she would stay here for an “indeterminate amount of time” until the mission was over for “safety and privacy purposes.”

The bedroom didn’t scream _SECRET GOVERNMENT_ like the long stretches of hallways outside and the wires and the screens and the constant hum of electricity under the metal did.

It was just a room.

The walls weren’t white, thank God. Marinette thought she’d had enough of white paint to last a lifetime – which, if she failed, wouldn’t be a very long lifetime anyway.

The walls were a light green, the color of Adrien’s eyes. She wondered if Aline had picked it out.

There were no windows, given that it _was_ an underground bunker despite the pretences, but the bed was comfortable, the air from the vents was warm, and the paintings on the wall gave Marinette an illusion of hope.

_It couldn’t be_ that _bad._

But that was a lie, too. It was worse than she could ever imagine.

She traced the name she’d penned so hard into the paper that she’d left gouges in the wooden table.

_Adrien_.

Without meaning to, she tried to etch out the name with her fingernail, desperate to believe that the hour before had been either a nightmare or a pipe dream.

But no. It was still there, as plain as day and as bitter as truth.

_Adrien._

_Adrien._

_Adrien._

_I have decided to elope with Adrien Agreste._

Of course it had to be Adrien. _Of course_.

Why he’d looked so ashen with Aline, why he had the same cut as the one Marinette fixed for Chat, the disappearances and the blondness and the green eyes and the beauty in every motion and the grace, the loyalty, the kindness—

Perhaps it was her ardent refusal to the privilege of thinking that life was easy that she had chalked everything up to coincidence and never thought of things like fate and destiny and soul gravitating towards soul.

They’d decided to create a story wherein the both of them could disappear, and had decided on a “soul-searching escapade.” It was sickening, and she’d tried telling him that of all the dreams she’d conjured up around being with him, this was not one of them.

Fabricating happiness when all she wanted to do was sleep and never wake up.

But of course she hadn’t spoken about it. Neither had he. The words they’d exchanged were stiff and cold, and they’d both padded off to their rooms afterwards without a backward glance at each other.

Heads reeling.

Hearts pounding.

Hopes damaged.

Marinette closed her eyes and tried to ignore the grief for something she never truly had, pounding away at the gates to her soul.

It felt like it had been forever since she’d heard his voice.

It had only been 20 minutes of silence, and it ran so deeply and so thoroughly that she wondered if this was what it meant to be heartsick.

 

**L A D Y B U G, 2:45 AM**

She looked at anywhere but Chat Noir.

They shook hands and signed papers and were led down the hallway by one of the Program guards while Aline discussed new developments with Averic. Whatever that meant.

Everything passed by in a blur. They walked, side-by-side, and said nothing, just let their minds catch up to reality in silence. There was no sound but the clatter of boots on metal.

And then Chat said, “Can I talk to her in private? For a while?”

It took Ladybug a moment to understand that he was addressing their guide, who nodded and gestured to a room a little ways off. “That’s one of the empty rooms we have,” she said kindly, which shocked Ladybug more than the slight accent to her words. (This was, after all, an international group, she had to remind herself.) She’d thought kindness was a foreign language within the Program. “I’ll wait here. Just know that if you _do_ try to leave, we’ll hunt you down again.”

_Well, so much for kindness._

They must have been staring at her weirdly, because she shrugged and explained, a little embarrassed, “Sorry. It’s protocol. I can’t do anything about how we run things here. And we _do_ need you.” She pursed her lips in thought for a long moment before adding, “If you fail your part of the mission, please don’t forget that you’re not the only ones who’ll disappear.”

Ladybug glanced at Chat for the first time since Aline had dismissed them. His hair was falling over his eyes, which seemed hazy and unfocused as he stared straight ahead at the woman before them. Ladybug followed suit, watching the woman – wait, _girl_ – out of the corner of her eye.

She was dressed in a militaristic uniform, a deep blue that echoed Aline’s own cerulean costume. She was tall, which made Ladybug overestimate her age until she looked at her face, which still had the refined smoothness of adolescence.

“How old are you?” Chat asked.

“Sixteen, going on seventeen,” their guide replied.

“And you’ve been in the Miraculous Program since…”

“Since I got my kwami,” she replied with another nonchalant shrug, pointing to the pendant hanging around her neck. “Two years now?”

A spark of fear went through Ladybug. _Fourteen_. She’d been fourteen when they’d recruited her into their secret war. And how old had Marinette been when _she’d_ gotten Tikki? _This_ could’ve been her life – a life of systems and protocols and risking your life before you’ve even fully lived it – if Tikki hadn’t run.

To this girl, they would look like vigilantes, working around the law she was confined to. To her, they were the lucky ones.

Questions threatened to overwhelm Ladybug. There was so much she didn’t know about the Program she’d signed herself into.

Does this girl still get to go home? Or had she had to fake her own death to save everyone she loved the pain of waiting by the door for news that she’d died in a mission? Did she have her own room here? How was she trained? How were they fed? How many others were there? How many had been lost?

Her eyes – as dark a brown as her skin – moved from Chat to Ladybug, and she held her gaze. There was a world of stories in that one gaze.

“My name’s Lila,” she said simply, then gestured to the door again. “Take all the time you like. I’ll be waiting here.”

“Let’s go.” Chat turned and faced Ladybug, taking her wrist in his hand, squeezing too roughly.

Ladybug stared up at him, surprised, because the Chat she knew was careful and gentle and _kind_ —

Or was that Adrien? The line between her boys had blurred so much that they were bleeding into each other.

It was frightening. Like standing at the edge of a cliff without knowing where you were going to land.

But Chat was all those, too. He _was_ careful and gentle and kind and perhaps that was why Ladybug—

“Ladybug.” His voice was hard, his eyes colder than she had ever seen them. “I said, _let’s go_.”

“Okay,” she breathed, and wrested her arm away from where his fingernails where digging gouges into the skin beneath her suit. She led the way to the room, and didn’t look back.

Chat followed quietly.

They entered a room not unlike the one they’d been held in, with screens on the walls and wires on the floor, but it was empty. There was a camera in the corner that was their only witness. Ladybug eyed it warily as Chat closed the door behind him, stretching out the time until she needed to look at him again.

Something in Chat had frosted over in the past hour. She was afraid to scrutinize it directly, afraid to find out whatever it was lurking behind those green, green eyes.

If she were truly to be honest, she just wanted Chat back – _her_ Chat, making her laugh and making her smile and tucking her hair behind her ear whenever it fell loose.

She wanted to wake up to find all of this had been some kind of nightmare. If she did, she’d probably transform back into Ladybug, find Chat and say, _“I am your soulmate. And I love you. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself I wasn’t, I do, I always will be.”_

Was it possible to love two people equally at the same time?

Was it possible to have both?

Was it possible to be happy?

Chat Noir sighed and crossed the room to her, taking her face in his hands. They were cold.

He forced her to look at him, at his shuttered eyes and his hair, silver under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“My Lady,” he whispered. “I love you.”

The remnants of her heart splintered. “You don’t mean that,” she said, knowing deep in her core that he did. “You can’t possibly—”

“I love you,” he said into the space between them. “That is the only truth I am sure of right now. Whoever you are behind that mask, know that I love you. If we disappear in the next month or in the next minute, I need you to know that I love you.”

He was trembling, his unsteady fingers drumming an errant beat into her skin. A tear leaked from the side of her eye, a tear of disbelief at the honesty in his proclamations.

How could he be so honest?

He wiped it away with his thumb, saying, “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” as he did. This was the Chat she remembered – always putting others before him. Always so gracious.

Somehow, that made her cry harder, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stamp down the overwhelming need to collapse.

“How?” she said through sobs. “How can you love someone like me?”

_I’m a liar and a traitor and I don’t deserve you—_

He seemed genuinely confused by the question. “How could I _not_? You’re brave and kind. I love the way how I can point out your footsteps from a hundred other noises. I love the way you face down enemy after enemy and still stand to face them the next day. I love those surprised little laughs I manage to get from you. I love the way you smile sideways at me every time I tell my stupid jokes. I love the way how the moonlight catches in your hair, almost like—” He paused, thinking. “Almost like another girl’s I know…”

“In your civilian life.”

“Yes.”

“I know someone like you, too.” She swallowed. “Chat, I…”

His hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, his fingers leaving a trail of fire across her bare skin. Then they travelled down her arms, making her shiver just a little, while Chat’s gaze lit her aflame.

Fire and chill.

Chill and fire.

His wandering hands stopped at her waists and he pulled her close to him. Her breath hitched as they came up flushed against each other, knee-to-knee, thigh-to-thigh. Chest-to-chest.

“I need to know,” he whispered, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She tried not to think about how hot and fast his breaths were coming, how she wanted to draw him in and keep him close forever, how her pulse was thunder under her skin. “If I’m going to die in a few months, then let me die knowing the name of the girl I love.”

_Wake up, and I promise you I’ll tell you everything_ —

“I won’t let you die,” she said into his skin, her arms wrapping around him on their own accord. She dug her nails into his shoulders, unwilling to let him go ever again. “Chat, we’ll get through this, okay? Just think of this as just another mission.”

“Possibly our last.”

“I’m not letting you die,” she repeated fiercely. “After we sort this out, we’ll eat bread at the Eiffel Tower and never have to come down, okay?”

“You’re deviating.” He sounded disappointed. “Don’t try to change the subject, my Lady. I’m so tired.”

Ladybug swallowed painfully, like she was trying to inhale glass. “I am, too. I’m tired of hiding.”

She forced herself to step away from his arms and stared into the vibrant green of his eyes. He stared back, unnervingly silent, and she could tell his exhaustion from the darkness that was beginning to creep into his gazes. He used to be so bright… how could one night ruin the supernova that was Chat Noir?

“I want to know who you are, Ladybug,” he said honestly, the only way he knew how. “I want to know your name and what you do when you aren’t saving Paris and me. I want to know who your friends are, how much sugar you put into your coffee, who your parents are, who you look up to. Everything. Because I may not have time to know after this. Because this may be the last time.”

“It won’t be.” Ladybug didn’t have to think about it. The feeling had always been there, scratching at the edges of her consciousness like some rat desperate to find food. And in a way, she was just as starved as that non-existent mind-rat. She’d always wanted to know, too. “But. Yes. Okay. Okay, Chat Noir.”

His face lit up and for a moment she could pretend that the world was still balanced and they really were still okay. If such a bright hope could still exist within Chat Noir’s eyes, after everything, then perhaps their cause was not futile.

She took his hands in hers and held their intertwined fingers between them. His fingers were trembling ever so slightly, but she kept her eyes on his.

“I want to know you, too, Chat Noir,” she whispered.

He nodded.

“On three.”

 

**C H A T  N O I R, 2:54AM**

“One…”

_~~What if he wasn’t what she expected?~~ _

_~~What if she’ll scoff and say she didn’t want him?~~ _

_~~What if he was not enough?~~ _

_~~What if she’d read the tabloids about Adrien Agreste and sees him in a darker light?~~ _

_~~What if~~ _

**L A D Y B U G, 2:54AM**

“Two…”

_~~She will finally know the face of the boy whose soul she betrays with every sentence that wasn’t “I’m your soulmate.”~~ _

_~~She will finally know the face of the boy she secretly loves.~~ _

_~~She will finally know.~~ _

 

**C H A T  N O I R, 2:55AM**

“Three. Plagg, de-transform me.”

 

**L A D Y B U G, 2:55AM**

“Tikki, de-transform me.”

There were two brief flashes of light, green and red bleeding into each other. And there was darkness.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng opened her eyes.

 

**A D R I E N, 2:55AM**

“Marinette.”

 

**M A R I N E T T E, 2:56AM**

“Adrien.”

 

**A D R I E N, 2:56AM**

_Question: How much trust was in his and Ladybug’s relationship if only a promise of death could get her to take off her mask? How much trust was in his and Marinette’s relationship that he’d never realized, and she’d never said a word?_

_Answer: Not enough. Never enough._

**M A R I N E T T E, 2:56AM**

All those nights, all those _hours_ spent crying and trembling and thinking that she had to choose, that she was somehow _cheating_ on Chat when all along—

The two boys she loved were the same people.

Of course her soul would somehow find Adrien Agreste, the face behind the mask, her heart had always been on the right course.

And this was the collision.

“Adrien,” she said again, daring to believe, reaching out to touch him, smiling wide and falling in love all over again. “Adrien, _it’s me_.”

“It’s you,” he repeated quietly.

Then he stepped back.

 

**A D R I E N, 2:57AM**

He stepped back.

And back.

And back, until he felt the wall behind him, a cold and steadying surface. There was confusion and hurt on her face, replacing the brief flash of hope and relief that he couldn’t quite understand, but his own anguish overrode any sense of rational thinking, overrode the desperate need to go to her and kiss her like the world was ending.

Which, probably and in their cases, it was.

“You never told me,” he whispered into the space between them. “We’ve been best friends for _years_ and you never told me. Not one word.”

“I told you…” she tried, but her words failed her. Her eyes were wide, afraid, like a doe trapped in the headlights. “When we met, I said there had to be a line. Between civilian and hero—”

“Don’t,” he said. "Just - Just _don't_."

A tragedy was being written right across her face.

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, unable to keep himself steady. His mind was reeling. There were so many broken pieces that were just recently starting to make sense, but then Marinette had to take a sledgehammer to the one thing he had always been sure of, but not anymore.

He had been sure of his friends. They were the only semblance of family he had, after his mother betrayed him and his father retreated.

And Marinette…

“I can’t think,” he said helplessly, feeling for the doorknob behind him. “I’m sorry. I – I need time.”

“Adrien, _wait_ —”

But he was out the door before she could say anything else.

 

**M A R I N E T T E, 3:00AM**

Background noise: Footsteps ringing hollow on a metal floor.

Adrien, coldly, without meeting her eyes: So our cover is that we both decided to go soul-searching because our daily lives were stifling and we’re going on an adventure.

Marinette, absently, distantly aware that Lila was trying hard not to listen in but failing: Yes. I don’t think Nino and Alya—

Adrien, cutting her off like he never did before: No.

Marinette, trying not to cry in front of a boy who hated her and a girl who didn’t even know her: Yes. Okay.

They stop in a hallway that looks identical to all other hallways.

There are doors identical to all other doors.

Silence reigns for a beat or two.

Lila, uncomfortable, bouncing on the balls of her feet: So… these rooms were just, uh, recently vacated…

Translation: The agents who’d lived here were either dead, missing or AWOL.

Lila, shrugging: Choose any which ones you like to occupy.

 

**L I L A, 3:02AM**

Things Lila did not comment on:

  * The fact that they’d emerged from the room de-transformed;
  * The fact that they both looked like their hearts had imploded inside them and shards were stuck in their lungs;
  * The awkward conversation regarding their excuses to their families and friends about where the two of them were;
  * The coldness;
  * The fact that they chose rooms at opposite ends of the hallway;
  * The fact that the rooms in this particular stretch of hallway had once belonged to the Miraculous agents who’d died in World War II;
  * The fact that, unconsciously, the two of them had gravitated towards the rooms of the Ladybug and the Chat Noir who’d come before them;
  * The fact that those rooms hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in nearly a hundred years;
  * There was a secret history of love and life in all rooms of the dead and gone.



 

**P L A G G, 3:20AM**

Well.

The world had gone to shit fast.

Plagg hovered, unsure what to do, as Adrien screamed into his pillow. It was a muffled, wretched sound.

His phone lay shattered on the wall opposite of his bed, wires and fractured metal and fragments of glass. He’d thrown it there after storming into this room and typing a quick story for his best friend about why his room was a mess and why he’d be gone for a long, long while with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

_Marinette Dupain-Cheng_ , of all people.

Of course, Plagg had called it. Or, specifically, he’d mentioned it, vaguely, in passing moments over the years, but Adrien had always been quick to interject.

_“Marinette?”_ he’d scoff. _“Of course not – she’s my best friend, I’d know if she was Ladybug.”_

Oh, the irony.

If this wasn’t such a tragedy and a shitshow, Plagg would be cackling.

Adrien screamed again. It was a brutal sound – like an animal’s last howl for help before a hunter puts it down. Like a battlecry. Like… Like an accumulation of years of doubt and heartache.

Of course, Plagg knew Adrien wasn’t crying just because Ladybug was Marinette, and that she hadn’t trusted Adrien enough to tell him sooner. She’d finally agreed to tell him her name because they were probably going to die in a few months.

_(But Plagg would go to hell and back to prevent that.)_

Adrien Agreste had just found out his estranged mother had broken his heart years ago for no reason. Sure, there _must_ be some motive. Plagg had a feeling that despite her reservations, Aline truly did love her family, evidence of which was the peculiar choice in wallpaper. Yellow – the same shade as Adrien’s hair. But nothing could, in Adrien’s eyes and in Plagg’s, excuse five years of absence and silence.

The door opened quietly, and Plagg turned to it, prepared to protect his friend from anymore hurt if it was Marinette, but it was someone worse.

_“Aline_ ,” Plagg growled, flying over to her and crossing his arms in front of her face. _“What do you think you’re doing here?”_

Adrien’s cries abruptly cut off.

Aline pursed her lips, her eyes dark. “I’m here to see my son,” she said through gritted teeth.

_“Like hell you are,”_ Plagg growled. _“You lost the right to call him your son the moment you stepped out of that door five years ago.”_

“I can explain.”

_“Oh, can you? Thank goodness explanations can fix five years’ worth of pain and heartbreak then, huh?”_

“You’re stepping out of bounds, Plagg.”

_“Last time I checked, I wasn’t under your jurisdiction. You got what you wanted so leave, you traitorous little—”_

“Plagg.”

They both turned at the sound of Adrien’s voice.

He was sitting up on his bed, hunched, and glaring at Aline with shadowed eyes. Aline stared back with a clenched jaw, her fingers curling and uncurling into fists.

“Adrien, I need to talk to you.” And just like that, Plagg was forgotten. He was used to it.

Adrien, surprisingly, nodded and patted the space on the bed beside him. The only evidence of his previous rage was the fragments of his phone that Aline eyed warily as she made her way across the room to sit beside her son.

Plagg hovered close by, watching Aline suspiciously.

When Aline took her seat, there was a long stretch of silence that Plagg wasn’t too keen on filling. He just floated, the two unaware of his existence, something he’d become unconsciously used to in the years he’d served as a guarding of a species that was not allowed to know of his existence.

Finally, without looking at his mother, Adrien said, “Marinette had a valid reason, you know. The first time we met as our alter egos, she’d said so herself that she wasn’t going to tell me who she was. And still, like a kid unused to being disappointed, I hoped. I thought that if we got to know each other better, she’d tell me who she was, eventually. Of course, I’d never imagined it would be in these circumstances, but in the end, it was my fault for expecting too much of her.” He finally raised his eyes to her. “So. What’s _your_ excuse for breaking my heart?”

Aline’s face looked infinitely sad, and Plagg wanted to claw at her for it, nevermind that his paws were tinier than her eye. “I did it to protect you,” she whispered, treading her fingers through Adrien’s hair. “You have to understand that it was only a matter of time before the Brigade came for me. Their network of spies extends wide, Adrien, you have no idea—”

“Of course I had no idea!” Adrien shouted, slapping his mother’s hand away from him. The vehemence in his voice made Plagg oddly proud, and oddly discomfited. And more than a little bit afraid, because Adrien’s light was flickering and Plagg had no idea to keep it from going out. “You _left_. That’s the only thing that matters. Screw your excuses, screw your bloody program! I was _twelve_. Imagine being twelve, waiting for your mother under the tree in your backyard because she’d _promised_ you were going to have a picnic that day, only to have a secretary come up and tell you your mother had left, your father was holed up in her room, and your life was _in fucking shambles_.”

“I never not thought of you, Adrien,” she said, mourning years lost. “Every breath and every step…”

“And still you put me through this. And still you let your own son sign up for something that would get him _killed_ —”

“I have no choice!” She seemed so desperate to make him believe. “There are greater powers at play here, Adrien, and they demand all hands on deck, even yours. Please believe me that I would never, _in a thousand years,_ put you through this if I had any other choice—”

“Greater powers at play? You’re the _president_ , aren’t you?”

Aline pursed her lips and glanced at Plagg for one brief moment, as if wondering what he was doing here amidst all this.

“There’s a hierarchy to be followed,” she said quietly. “There’s also the fate of thousands involved with keeping humanity safe. If the Program falls, everything does. I _will_ keep you safe through this, Adrien. I will never let you do something that I think you can’t handle…”

“And how would you know anything about me?” he asked bitterly. “You were gone for five years.”

The words were a physical blow to Aline, who looked stung by every syllable the came out of Adrien’s mouth. Plagg could feel the inner machinations moving in Aline’s mind, but at that moment, she was speechless.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d been gone for so long, how could she even begin to know the boy she’d left behind? They were more or less strangers in this scenario, and it seemed that Aline was just now realizing it.

Adrien stared at her as if he’d been surprised by his severity, too, but not entirely regretful of it. Adrien had never regretted the truth, except possibly for the one time that it broke his heart, more than 20 minutes ago.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Adrien whispered. “In fact, you don’t even know who _I_ am.”

“You’re Adrien Agreste,” said Aline helplessly, “you’re my son and I love you and that’s all we need to know about each other.”

“No,” Adrien replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s not.”

Adrien put his face in his hands, either to hide his own tears or to shy away from the ones forming in Aline’s eyes. His voice, when it came after moments of strangled sobs, was muffled. “Imagine being twelve. Imagine having no one because your mother was gone and your father might as well be, too. Imagine trying to understand, trying to figure out why she never wrote, or visited, or even left one _happy birthday_ in your fucking Facebook feed in _five_ goddamn years.”

Aline’s eyes blazed like green fire. “And what would I have told you otherwise, Adrien? _‘I have to leave because I’m the president of the biggest organization protecting the human race and someone’s out to get me’?_ ”

“Yes,” Adrien rasped, his voice raw with emotion. “That’s _exactly_ what you should’ve said. The truth may be hard, but it is the truth.”

_Sed lex, dura lex._

The law is hard, but it is the law. Plagg thought the Program should have that as a motto, but nothing could beat the drama in _No mercy._ When he’d been told that the Program’s motto was _No mercy_ , he’d actually laughed.

Then he’d paused and had to contemplate his life choices when he’d realized it was exactly the kind of batshit insane that the Program was into.

“And you know what else, Mom?” Adrien looked up, his face so twisted with grief that Plagg had a hard time picking out which features belonged to the boy of sunshine he’d loved above all other humans. “I tried to hate you for it. For leaving and for the silence. I tried to hate you, because Father couldn’t do it for himself. He threw away your stuff, tried to make himself believe you had never existed, but he still locked himself up in his office on your birthday, and he put on _You Are My Sunshine_ on that ancient record player you two found in Rome every time your wedding anniversary comes along. At least one of us could hate you for the very hateable thing you did, right? Turns out, I couldn’t either. I dug up your stuff from the dump and kept them in the box like some little kid drunk of naivety, and every time I open my email, I couldn’t help but hope, however futilely, that one of the strings of _happy birthday_ or _congrats on the runway_ or _good luck_ could be from you. The most awful part of this whole affair is that even after all that, I still love you, Mom.”

That was Aline’s undoing. With a strangled sob, the President of the greatest group in the world collapsed in on herself like a bomb had detonated inside of her. She bent over her lap, her face in her hands, and began crying in earnest, gasping _I’m so sorry_ s wih every breath.

Adrien looked on with the look of someone startled by the effect of their own words. For a moment, he sat there, staring, his eyes red and puffy. He glanced at Plagg, and there was a world of sorrow in that one glance.

Then slowly, hesitatingly, Adrien put his arms around his mother.

Aline’s breath hitched, and then her breathing evened out as if Adrien’s touch was a salve and she leaned into her son like he was a crutch.

_Pathetic,_ Plagg thought, but then he saw Adrien’s face, so bright and open with raw emotion, and he thought, _Wonderful_.

Wonderful.

It would take several lifetimes more for Plagg to ever forgive, much less trust, Aline Agreste, and the world will freeze over before he even begins to consider the Program as anything short of a stain on the history of mankind, but perhaps, for now, looking at Adrien’s face, the face of a boy who truly believed he got his mother back, Plagg thought he could _maybe_ tolerate Aline.

Just this once.

 

**L A D Y B U G, 1945**

_Love,_

_Marinette_

As she stared at the boy sleeping in his bed, so peaceful and so angelic in sleep, she couldn’t help but smile as she tucked the letter into the drawer of his writing desk.

She snuck out of his room quietly after pressing a quick kiss to his temple. This was an unsanctioned late-night visit, and the General would surely look for her in the morning, rousing her for another battle in some field somewhere.

But the memory of her message still rang through her veins. She wondered when he’d find it. She wondered how he’d feel about it.

It would be nice if he’d ask her to marry him after she laid her heart out like that, but if he didn’t, she’d probably ask him herself. Perhaps in a kinder time, when they weren’t heroes of Paris, agents of the Program, but rather just Adrien and Marinette, a boy and a girl who were in love.

_Love,_

_Marinette_

Even the signature seemed like a truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this with "Requiem" from Dear Evan Hansen playing in the background, which explains the general tone  
> as always, thanks for sticking around <3


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